


At the doorway again

by HelveticaBrown



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-20 04:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11912787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelveticaBrown/pseuds/HelveticaBrown
Summary: Life is complicated for Regina Mills: she's Mayor of Storybrooke and she's raising her son, Henry, who has a chronic illness by herself. The last thing she needs is another complication in the form of Emma Swan, the new Deputy Sheriff. Somehow, though, they keep being thrown together and maybe that's not such a bad thing after all.A no magic AU written for SQ Supernova.





	1. Painting the town red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reginamea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginamea/gifts).
  * Inspired by [At the Doorway Again // art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11924745) by [reginamea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginamea/pseuds/reginamea). 



> A huge thank you to reginamea for creating such wonderful artwork to go with my fic. You should all go and shower her with praise.
> 
> Thank you, also, to Agathasajax for her suggestions on how to make this story less of a disaster.
> 
> And finally, a big round of applause to the wonderful mods - I honestly don't know how you guys do it, but I'm insanely grateful that you give so much time and effort to running something that brings so many wonderful creations into the fandom.

* * *

Dispatch calls five minutes before she’s due to end her shift and she grumbles under her breath for a moment, before snapping out a curt, “Acknowledged.”

She pulls up to the building site and as she gets out of the car it seems like there are teenage boys scattering in every direction, some of them on bikes. She makes a half-hearted attempt at trying to chase one of them down but he’s got too much of a head start and she’s not really sure whether he’s actually done anything worthy of breaking a sweat this late in the day. Probably just some dumb kids daring each other to do stupidly dangerous things.

She’s about to get back in the car when she hears a noise. She pulls out her torch and heads back towards the site. There’s a kid trying to climb the chain-link fence, but he’s stuck. When she shines her torch on him she can see he’s about half the size of the others. He winces at the bright light and when he looks like he’s about to lose his balance, she hastily redirects it.

There’s a can of spray paint on the ground and she makes a mental note to swing by tomorrow and check things out in the daylight. She suspects, judging by the suspicious red stains she spotted on the kid’s hands, there’s probably some brand-new graffiti somewhere on the building site.

“Hold up, kid. I’m gonna get you down from there.” She puts her nightstick down, propping it up so she can at least see a little bit of what she’s doing. She has to half-climb the fence to get to him and she almost falls off, herself, before she manages to untangle him.

She jumps down first and he’s off the fence a moment later, making like he’s about to run. She grabs the back of his shirt before he can.

“Not so fast, kid. We need to have a chat about what you and your friends were doing here tonight. Let’s start with your name.”

She’s met with silence.

“How about you tell me the names of some of the other guys. I mean, they can’t be great friends if they left you holding the bag, can they, kid?”

He squirms under her grasp and she tightens her grip a little. Not too hard; just enough to let him know she’s right there and he’s not going anywhere without her say-so.

“There’s two ways we can do this, kid. The easy way is you talk to me and I drive you home. If you choose the hard way, we take a trip down to the station.”

“But I didn’t do anything.” The kid’s cute and he’s trying to play it for all it’s worth. He looks up at her with big, shining eyes. She’s not buying it for a minute and it must be just as obvious to him, because he quickly reverts to sullenness.

“That might be a bit more convincing if I didn’t just catch you trespassing. So, what’s your name? I’m gonna find out eventually, so you might as well save us both some time.”

There’s an audible sigh. “Fine. It’s Noah.”

“That’s a start, but you’re gonna have to give me a bit more than that. Noah who?”

“Deer.”

“And where do you live, Noah Deer?” She rolls her eyes the moment she says it. Should have known the little shit would give her a fake name. She decides to roll with it for the moment.

“How old are you, anyway, Noah? Isn’t it past your bedtime or something?”

“I’m _fifteen_ ,” he snarls, or tries to. The effect is somewhat diminished by the reediness of his voice.

She can’t help it. She scoffs. “No way you’re fifteen.” He looks maybe ten or eleven.

“I can prove it. It’s on my school ID.”

“Yeah?”

He pulls out his ID card and realises a moment too late that he’s been conned. Emma’s too fast for him and she takes the card from his hand before he can snatch it away.

“Henry Mills, huh?” She peers a little closer. “Well, I’ll be… you really are fifteen.”

He gives her a sulky look. “Told you so.”

“So you did.” She still can’t quite believe it. “You get stuck in a time distortion? Hit by a shrink ray?”

“Screw you.” He looks like he’s about to say something else, but a coughing fit steals the breath from his lungs and Emma watches him with concern.

“You okay, kid?”

He recovers and eyes her warily. “I’m fine.”

“How about you let me take you home?”

“Whatever.”

The drive is mostly silent, apart from occasional terse instructions from Henry, punctuated by an occasional coughing fit. She tries to make conversation, tries to draw him out a little. She doubts the site owners will want to press charges or even particularly care about anything as minor as some graffiti; the place is half-abandoned and as far as Emma can tell, they’ve probably run out of money. Doesn’t mean she’s not going to use whatever she can to scare the kid straight.

They’re in the nicer part of town, now, and eventually he directs her to pull over in front of one of several near-identical mansions.

He turns to her and it’s the first moment he’s seemed sincere. “Do you have to tell my mom about this? If she finds out she’ll kill me. If I promise to come by the station tomorrow can we keep this unofficial? I’ll even clean up the graffiti, I promise.”

Well that’s one suspicion confirmed. She thinks about his proposal for a moment; it’s probably against protocol, but then again, she’s quickly learning that in small-town policing, the rule book is more of a rough guide than anything else and creative solutions are the norm. Besides, she’s tired after a very long day and it’s hardly the crime of the century. And if she has to follow it up, she now knows where he lives.

“Fine. Make sure you show up. And don’t go breaking anymore laws before then, kid.”

He flashes her a smile. “Sure thing. Thanks Deputy Swan.”

She idles the engine and watches him walk towards the house. He heads up the drive and she puts the car into gear and is about to pull out from the kerb when she sees him dart down the side of the house. _The little shit._ He’s obviously a far more seasoned operator than she’s given him credit for. It’s really not worth trying to chase him down for such a minor offence, but she’s kind of pissed that he’s managed to con her like this.

She drives down the street and takes the first turn she comes to, looking out for the kid in the next street along. She doesn’t see him straight away and she keeps driving around, losing her bearings completely after a while. She hates neighbourhoods like this, full of cul-de-sacs and winding streets and houses that all look the same.

It’s sheer dumb luck that puts her in the street Henry happens to be walking down, just when she’s given up and is about to head home. She parks the car and hurries to catch up with him just as he starts to walk up a driveway. There’s something about the house that seems familiar, but she pushes that aside, more interested in confronting Henry and restoring a little bit of her pride.

He doesn’t notice her until she’s next to him, apparently focused on getting home as quickly as he can.

“I let you go in good faith, but I’m guessing you weren’t planning to show up at the station.”

He ignores her and reaches out to put his key in the door, but before he can, the door opens. There’s a woman framed in the doorway and her face keeps switching between worry and anger, seemingly unable to settle on one or the other.

_Damn._

Emma realises why the house seems familiar. David had taken her past it during a tour of the town on her first day in the Sheriff’s Office.

Henry’s the Mayor’s kid.

Emma hasn’t met the Mayor yet – she’s only been on the job a couple of weeks – but she recognises her from photos she’s seen in the Storybrooke Mirror. She’s every bit as imposing as Emma had expected (although kind of short) and even more strikingly attractive than the photos had suggested. Emma winces at the thought that their first meeting will be under these less-than-ideal circumstances.

“Henry?” Worry (and relief) wins for a moment and the Mayor pulls Henry in for a tight hug as Emma hovers awkwardly in the background. The Mayor’s anger apparently reasserts itself a moment later; she draws back and says, “Henry, go upstairs and get cleaned up. I’ll call you down when dinner’s ready. And no video games.”

“Mom, it’s not…” Henry tries to interject, but he’s shut down straight away.

“Upstairs, _now_. We’ll talk about this later.”

Emma winces a little in sympathy; there’s a thread of steel in the Mayor’s voice that suggests arguing with her is not a sensible option.

Henry sighs, but he heads upstairs without any further argument, leaving Emma as the sole object of the Mayor’s scrutiny. Emma might be the one with the uniform, the badge and the gun, but she can’t help squirming a little under the intensity of her gaze. She suspects it wouldn’t take much effort from the Mayor to have her confessing to crimes she’d never even thought about committing.

“Now, Deputy…” There’s a question in her tone and Emma rushes to answer it.

“Swan. Deputy Emma Swan.” She extends a hand, which the Mayor looks at for a moment before grasping with a surprisingly strong grip that’s _just_ the right side of polite.

“I don’t recognise you. You’re new in town?”

“Yeah…” Emma clears her throat, and starts again, realising she should probably be a little more formal. “Yes, Madam Mayor. I just moved to Storybrooke and started with the Sheriff’s Department two weeks ago.”

“And you decided that arresting my son would be the perfect way to start your life and your career in this town, Deputy Swan?”

“Well, to be fair, I didn’t arrest him. And I didn’t know he was your son when I picked him up.” There’s a raised eyebrow from the Mayor and Emma hastens to add, “Not that that would have changed anything, Madam Mayor.”

The Mayor regards her steadily for a moment and Emma’s not sure if she’s said the right thing, or if she’s just signed her own termination notice. She fidgets with her belt and searches the Mayor’s face for clues, but she’s giving nothing away.

Finally, the Mayor seems to deflate and Emma allows herself to relax a little, too. “Of course not.” There’s a shadow of a smile. “Well I suppose you’d better come in, then.”

Emma follows, a couple of steps behind, and she can’t quite stop herself from gawking like a country bumpkin as she takes in the interior of the house. It’s every bit as impressive as the view from the street had suggested and more. Her own shoebox of an apartment would probably fit in the foyer with space still left over.

“And it’s Regina.”

Emma frowns, still distracted. “Regina?” She comes to an abrupt stop, just in time to avoid running into the Mayor’s back.

“My _name_.” Emma can almost hear the eye-roll. “I mean, technically I don’t ever really stop being the Mayor, but I hardly think it’s reasonable to stand on ceremony when you’re here to tell me about whatever delinquency my son has been engaged in.”

The Mayor – _Regina_ – opens the door to what appears to be her office and waves Emma in.  

“Now, can I offer you a drink, Deputy? I have an excellent apple cider I make myself…” Regina shakes her head. “But you’re on duty, of course. Can I offer you a soda? Water? Tea?”

Emma jumps in before Regina can recite a list of every beverage under the sun. “Just finished my shift, but soda’s fine. Still have to drive home.” Driving a squad car under the influence definitely falls under the category of career-limiting moves, but even if that wasn’t an issue, Emma is left with the distinct impression that keeping her wits about her in Regina’s presence would be a very good idea.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a moment.”

Emma takes the opportunity to look around. Something about Regina makes her nervous, and when she’s nervous she needs something to keep herself busy. Like the rest of what she’s seen of the house, this room is impeccably decorated, with furniture that she’s pretty sure costs more than what she makes in a year. But where the rest of the house seems a little more austere and impersonal, this room has the odd personal touch here and there that doesn’t quite fit. Like a small, bronze statue of a horse on the mantelpiece over the fireplace. Emma can’t help herself; she crosses the room and picks it up. There’s an inscription on the base and she’s just about to read it, when she hears the click of heels coming down the hallway. She hastily returns the statue to the shelf and tries to make herself look as casual as possible, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

Regina gives her a curious look, before handing her the soda, which Emma accepts with relief. It’s something other than a badge, a gun or one of Regina’s possessions to fidget with.

“You _can_ sit down, Deputy Swan. I promise none of the furniture is booby-trapped,” Regina says, as she crosses the room and sits on one of the sofas.

Emma watches as Regina crosses one perfect leg over the other, the very image of elegance. Emma, her uniform rumpled and dirty, feels entirely out of place in this enormous house, in the company of this beautiful, sophisticated woman. And, with not a small amount of horror, she realises there’s a decent-sized tear in the back of her uniform pants that must have happened when she was pulling Henry off the fence. The last thing she wants to do now is walk across the room and expose herself to the judgement she’s sure she’ll be on the receiving end of.

“I’m fine. This is a very comfortable wall.” She realises how ridiculous it sounds as soon as it’s out of her mouth, but she’s committed to this course now. She adjusts her pose to one that she hopes makes her seem cool and self-assured, but she’s pretty sure she’s failing miserably, because on the inside she feels anything but. She tries to remind herself that she’s here for a reason and that she just needs to focus on getting the job done.

“Suit yourself. Now, I’d like to hear why you arrested…” Regina quickly corrects herself when Emma opens her mouth, “… why you _picked up_ my son. I’m sure Henry will spin a very compelling tale for me later, but I suspect it will involve a rather creative version of the truth.”

“He and some other kids were trespassing at a building site on the other side of town. Definitely spraying some graffiti, but I’m not sure if they were getting up to any other kind of mischief.”

“And who were these other children?”

Emma shrugs. “Not sure. They all took off before I could get a good look at any of them.”

“And you’re absolutely _sure_ Henry was involved?”

“Yeah. Henry was stuck on the fence, so I got him down and brought him home. And you saw him; he’s covered in spray paint.”

“Well I can’t really argue with that, I suppose.”

Emma frowns. She’d expected there to be a bit more pushback; in her experience, the last thing people with power tended to do was just accept things like this without a fight. “You don’t seem too surprised by any of this.”

There’s a pained smile from Regina. “This isn’t the first time he’s done something like this.” And all of a sudden, she seems to collapse in on herself, and Emma realises that everything she’s been seeing over the past few minutes has been little more than a façade.

She pushes off the wall and crosses the room. “Hey, are you alright?”

“No, I’m not.”


	2. The lasso of truth compels you

_“No, I’m not.”_

Regina surprises herself when she admits it out loud, confesses to being anything less than perfectly in control. But it seems like a very long while since anyone’s asked her that question and she’s so tired that even talking to the strange, awkward woman standing in front of her seems like a better option than staying silent for a moment longer.

She’s so good at pretending that nothing fazes her, at least while anyone’s watching. In the council chambers, a wall of middle-aged men with red, angry faces, her smile never wavering. In the doctor’s surgery, hearing Henry’s test results and finding out why he’d been so sick those first 18 months, Daniel crying beside her. In the kitchen with Henry two days after his eighth birthday, explaining that his father was gone and that he couldn’t come back.

She’s so good at it; in this, at least, she’s her mother’s daughter. But the things that matter, the things that she’s spent the last fifteen years trying to hold onto and be strong for, it feels like they’re unravelling in front of her eyes. It feels like Henry’s slipping away, but not in the way she’s spent most of his life dreading.

She closes her eyes for a moment and clutches at the ring that hangs on a chain around her neck. She wishes that Daniel was still here, because as good as she is at surviving, as used to it as she is, sometimes she desperately wishes she didn’t have to do this alone. Wishes there was someone she didn’t have to pretend with all the time.

There’s a hand on her knee, soft, uncertain, and she opens her eyes. The Deputy is kneeling in front of her and there are wide hazel eyes gazing up at her, kind and sincere, a hint of a frown creasing the brow above them.

“It’s okay. He’s home safe and sound.” Her voice is soft, reassuring, and Regina wishes she could take comfort from these words. But she can’t.

“Today, he is. But tomorrow he might not be. Tomorrow you might be knocking on my door, alone, telling me how sorry you are. Or there’ll be a call from the hospital…” She swallows against the lump in her throat.

“Hey, it’s okay. Most teenagers act out a bit, do a few stupid things, test their boundaries.”

“Most teenagers don’t have Cystic Fibrosis,” she snaps. “Making the same mistakes everyone else does could make him very ill. I keep trying to explain that to him, but he just won’t listen.”

There’s a stricken look on Deputy Swan’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”

This was a mistake.

It’s not the Deputy’s fault she’d caught her during a rare moment of weakness. It’s not her fault she’s not across fifteen years of history, of clinic visits, of chest physio, of desperate nights spent sleeping in a hospital chair. Absently, she says, “It’s fine. You didn’t know.” She stands up and there’s an awkward moment as Deputy Swan scrambles to get out of her way. “I’m sorry. I need to make sure Henry gets dinner.”

“Sure.” There’s a moment of hesitation from Deputy Swan and she’s almost apologetic-sounding when she says, “About the vandalism…”

“Please get in touch and let me know what needs to be done.” The mask is already sliding back into place. Cool. Professional. Distant. She’s so good at it that she can almost convince herself these days. _Almost._

She shows the Deputy to the door, and she can’t help the brief flicker of amusement rising when she notices the tear in the seat of her uniform pants and the Wonder Woman logo peeping through.

“I’m quite fond of Wonder Woman, myself.”

She suppresses a smile as Deputy Swan’s face goes from confusion to comprehension to an impressive shade of scarlet and there’s a stuttered response that doesn’t quite make it from nonsense into words. She feels a momentary pang of guilt about embarrassing the Deputy after she’d been so kind, but she needs this, needs to tip the scales a little further so she can feel like herself again.

“Good night, Deputy Swan.”

“Emma.” There’s a wry grin that Regina almost wants to answer with one of her own. “I’m not on duty anymore.”

Regina ignores the invitation – for now – and says a little more firmly this time, “Good _night_ , Deputy Swan.”

She gets the hint this time and the Deputy – _Emma_ – safely banished from her house, Regina closes the door and leans against it, giving herself a moment to catch her breath before she goes upstairs to face Henry. Eventually she summons the courage and the strength. She hovers outside his door for a moment, wincing at the sound of him coughing. She hesitates for a moment longer, before knocking softly.

“Henry, can I come in?”

There’s a long pause. Then, “Fine.”

She opens the door. “Do you need help with your PT?”

He gives her a sulky look. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m old enough to do it myself. Besides, I just finished.”

She walks across the room and sits down beside him on his bed. She reaches out to sweep the hair back from his face and her heart sinks a little when he dodges out of the way. It sinks even further when he gets up and leans against the door frame on the other side of the room, arms folded, a hostile expression on his face.

She doesn’t know how to do this; she feels like she’s always walking on eggshells around him these days. And right now, when she should be justifiably angry with him, she’s terrified to scare him even further away.

“Henry,” she starts, her voice soft and hesitant.

He cuts her off. “We don’t need to talk about this. I messed up, I’m grounded and I’m going to be scrubbing the graffiti off that wall. That’s what you were going to say, right?”

It’s what she would have said eventually, but it’s not even the part of the conversation that matters the most right now. The conversation that Henry’s effectively cut off. She tries again. “You’re right. You _are_ grounded, and you _are_ going to talk to Deputy Swan about what you need to do to make amends. But right now, I want you to talk to me. What’s going on, Henry?”

“You wouldn’t understand, Mom.”

“Try me. You might be surprised.”

He shakes his head. “Nothing to talk about.”

She sighs. “If you won’t talk to me about this, maybe I should make you an appointment with Doctor Hopper.”

He scowls at her. “No way, Mom. The guy’s a quack. I don’t want to talk to him.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do then, Henry.”

“ _Nothing_.” He’s shouting now, and she flinches. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t need you looking over my shoulder all the time.”

“I wouldn’t have to if I could be sure you’d take care of yourself. But I’ve been trusting you with a lot and look at what happened last year. Look at what happened _tonight_.” Her voice is rising as she says this, and she makes a conscious effort to get herself back under control. “I’m your mother, Henry. I love you, which means I’m _always_ going to worry about you.”

“Yeah, well I wish you wouldn’t.” His lips twist into a snarl. “I wish Dad was still alive, so you had someone else to bug.”

She doubles over, her head almost to her knees, arms wrapped around her stomach, and the air whooshes right out of her lungs. She struggles to take another breath in, gasping helplessly, as her vision swims.

“Mom…” Henry’s voice is uncertain, quavering, as if he’s finally realised he’s taken it too far. She can feel him hovering next to her, his post by the door abandoned. But right now she can’t bring herself to look at him, because he’s hit her in the one place guaranteed to hurt.

When she can, she stands up. She still can’t look at him.

“Dinner will be on the table in ten minutes,” she says, tonelessly.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You _will_ be downstairs in ten minutes and you _will_ eat.” With that, she leaves the room.

She heads down to the kitchen, dishes out two plates and sits waiting for Henry. He appears after the appointed ten minutes and moves his plate down to the other end of the table so he’s no longer facing her. He makes a big show of shovelling the food into his mouth, chewing aggressively, while she pushes food around her plate. Neither of them try to speak.

Her first bite of dinner tastes like mud. The second feels like it lodges in her throat and she hastily downs a glass of water. She gives up on the third and her fork drops to her plate with a loud clatter. It’s soon followed by a stream of silent tears, her head resting in her hands and her shoulders shaking.

There’s the scrape of a chair being hurriedly pushed out from the table and then Henry’s beside her.

“Mom, I’m sorry. Mom, _please_ ,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around her and presses his cheek to her hair.

She resists for a moment, but she can’t for long; she turns and pulls him closer. She’s still hurt and furious, but he’s also her sweet little prince and even at his worst, she can’t ever forget that.

“I love you, Henry,” she murmurs into his shoulder.

“Love you, Mom.”

*****

She’s just finished enduring a gruelling city planning meeting that had been about three seconds from devolving into an actual brawl when her secretary knocks on the door.

“Your 3 o’clock is here.”

“Thank you, Sarah. Please send him in.”

“It’s not the Sheriff, Madam Mayor. It’s one of his deputies.”

Sarah leaves and a moment later the door opens again. Regina suppresses a sigh when she realises exactly which of the deputies David has sent for the monthly crime stats briefing. He’s supposed to come and do it himself, but it’s become some sort of bizarre hazing ritual to send one of his new deputies along in his place. She should have expected it, but she’s not quite ready to see Deputy Emma Swan again, not after she’d broken down like that in front of her a few nights ago.

She’s tired and raw still; she hasn’t slept well since that night. But here, she’s in her element and she instinctively schools her face into an impassive mask, unwilling to permit herself any further display of weakness. Emma, for her part, seems just as perturbed as she is, but far less accomplished at hiding it.

“Deputy Swan, perhaps you could begin by informing me of the whereabouts of the Sheriff. I was expecting a presentation from him today and instead, I’m looking at his newest deputy.”  

“I’m sorry, Regina, uh, I mean, Madam Mayor.” There’s a blush slowly creeping across Emma’s face, as she stumbles over her words. “He received an urgent call out to follow up on a lead on an open case. Apparently there was a time limit on it.”

She rolls her eyes at what she’s sure is a very convenient fiction on David’s part; for the most part, she doesn’t mind her step-sister’s husband, but sometimes he really is a pain in her ass.

Emma, for her part, seems to be waiting for a response and Regina can’t help it; she snaps at Emma. “Well get on with it then, Deputy Swan. I don’t have all day.”

She regrets the harshness of her words a moment later, when Emma fumbles and knocks the folder full of crime reports to the floor, along with another couple of folders. She sighs and gets up from her chair, walking around to the other side of the desk and kneeling to help Emma with the pile of papers.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day – a long week, really – and that’s not your fault. It’s also not your fault that your boss seems determined to get on my last nerve.”

Emma pauses in her task of picking up the papers and looks at her. “Listen, about the other night…”

“I have nothing more to say about that.” Emma opens her mouth and it seems like she’s going to argue, so Regina cuts her off. “Forget it happened.”

They finish picking up the papers and Regina suppresses a sigh when she realises that a folder of applications she’s reviewed has been mixed in with some she hasn’t. Sorting them will be a vexing reminder of Emma’s visit later. Emma is the first to stand up, and when she offers a hand to help Regina up, she hesitates for a moment, before accepting it. She ends up standing a little too close to Emma and she can’t really say why, but she rushes to retreat to the safety of the other side of her desk.

“Now, tell me about the crime stats.”

*****

After managing to exist in the same town for a whole two weeks without meeting, it seems like Deputy Emma Swan now shows up everywhere Regina goes. They’ve run into each other in the supermarket, at Granny’s Diner a couple of times and last weekend Emma had been called out to deal with an escaped dog digging up her neighbour’s yard. Today it’s at Henry’s school. She’s just finished a conference with his deputy principal to discuss some discipline issues and on her way out of the office, and she’s so pre-occupied that she doesn’t notice Emma walking in the opposite direction. Momentarily off balance, she grabs at Emma’s arms to steady herself.

“Hey, watch where you’re…” Emma stops mid-sentence and softens her tone. “Oh, Madam Mayor, it’s you.”

“Deputy Swan. What a pleasant surprise.” That’s not entirely true, but it’s also not an unpleasant surprise, either. Emma Swan is slowly growing on her. “What are you here for?”

“I got tapped to do the annual ‘drugs are bad, mmkay’ speech to each of the year levels,” Emma says, her lips twisting into a wry smile.

“And how did it go?”

“I feel like I really made a difference. I mean, only 95% of them were looking at their phones the whole time I was talking.”

“I’m sure, through your heroic actions today, you’ve saved countless children from a future of addiction and despair.” Emma’s smile fades, and Regina wonders if she’s said the wrong thing.

“It might not sound like it, but I do take this seriously. It’s important and too many kids lose themselves like this. It’s just, they’re young, they’re bulletproof, and the last thing they want to hear is a cop telling them not to have fun.”

“Of course. I have no doubt that you do an excellent job,” Regina says, soothingly. It feels like she’s just caught a glimpse of the real Emma Swan hiding behind the clumsy, overly sincere woman she’d met that first night.

Emma smiles at her awkwardly, and they stare at each other for a moment, neither of them speaking. There’s a tendril of hair escaping Emma’s ponytail and the thought comes to her mind, unbidden, that she could just reach out and tuck it behind her ear. It’s that thought that has Regina realising, belatedly, that she’s still gripping Emma’s arms, and she’s suddenly conscious that even through the heavy fabric of Emma’s uniform, she can feel toned biceps flexing against her hands. _And had her thumbs been…? No._ She drops her hands to her sides, suddenly self-conscious and desperately hopes Emma hasn’t noticed her momentary lapse.

She rushes to fill the drawn-out silence. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t hold you up any longer. I’m sure you have places to be.”

Emma nods. “Yeah, I’ve got to get back to the station. I’ll see you around.”

Regina watches as Emma walks away, down the corridor, relieved to have escaped the encounter. She groans when she realises exactly what, or rather, which part of Emma, her eyes are drawn to. As much as she tries to convince herself, she knows she was not admiring the tailoring of Emma’s pants, so much as the contents of them.

This simply won’t do.


	3. Put away wet (without being ridden at all)

Emma is quickly coming to learn that community policing, particularly Storybrooke’s version of it, is low on actual policing and high on public humiliation. Shortly after she’d arrived in town, she’d had to pose for a charity calendar shoot starring Storybrooke’s finest. She is definitely not looking forward to being Miss July, or rather, Officer July. And as if that indignity wasn’t enough, right now, she’s precariously perched on a platform, with the threat of a dunking in a very icy pool of water looming in her immediate future. She’d tried every excuse she could to get out of being the star attraction at the dunking booth at the Storybrooke community fair, but David had laughed at each of her attempts.

It's early in the day; so far the only contenders have been young kids and none of them has had enough of an arm to dislodge her from her perch. Emma suspects that will change soon enough. She’s right.

Mulan, one of her fellow deputies, wanders up and flashes a bright smile at her. “How’s the view up there, Emma?”

“Why don’t you switch places with me and find out?”

Mulan laughs. “I don’t think so, rookie. I did my tour of duty last year and I have no intentions of reliving the memory.”

“I could owe you a really big favour.”

“Not a chance. I have plans for today, and none of them involve taking an ice bath.”

Emma tries pleading. “I thought we were friends.” Mulan is, unsurprisingly, unmoved. Worse than that, though, is the moment of betrayal when she hands over five dollars for ten balls. When Emma shoots her a disbelieving look, she just shrugs.

“You better be planning to miss.”

Mulan holds up one of the balls and narrows her eyes, measuring the distance. “I played varsity softball and I _never_ miss.” She holds up a finger, testing wind speed and direction and Emma rolls her eyes at the overblown theatrics.

“I _will_ hate you forever. You know that, right?”

“No you won’t.” Mulan starts a series of exaggerated stretches and warm-up exercises.

Emma abandons intimidation and moves on to bargaining. “I’ll bring you donuts every day for a week.”

“I’m trying to cut down on sugar.”

“I could make you lunch, instead.”

Mulan scoffs. “I’ve seen what you eat and I’d rather not be poisoned.”

“I could be your wingman. Help you get a date with that waitress at the diner I saw you checking out last week.”

“I’ve seen no evidence that you could even get a date for yourself, so why should I trust you with that?” Mulan shakes her head. “Enough. It’s time.”

Emma sighs and braces herself for a dunking that, surprisingly enough, doesn’t come. She opens her eyes and she’s not sure she’s ever been as relieved to see someone as she is right now. Regina is standing in front of the booth with a camera crew in tow.

“I hope you don’t mind, Deputy Swan, but we’re collecting footage for tonight’s news bulletin.”

“Of course not.” It’s not like she has a choice, although it’s also not the worst thing in the world; she gets to hang out on the platform, safe and dry, for a little longer. And she gets to watch Regina at work, which also isn’t a terrible way to spend time. In fact, it makes for very pleasant viewing.

When she’s prompted to, she smiles and waves at the camera.

It’s all going fine, until Regina gets some balls and poses like she’s going to take a shot at dunking Emma. She’s pretty sure it’s all just for show; Regina looks like she’s ready to move on to whatever’s next on her schedule and Emma’s safe for a little while longer. She groans when she hears the cameraman joking with the booth attendant about whether or not Regina could actually hit the target, because from the look in Regina’s eyes, she’s heard them talking too. And Emma somehow _knows_ that Regina’s not going to rest until she’s hit that target, no matter how many shots it takes.

As it turns out, she only needs one.

Emma barely has time to hold her breath before she’s plunging into the water tank. It’s even colder than she expected and it takes her a moment to orient herself, before she pushes back up to the surface, coughing and spluttering. She drags herself out of the water, sparing a moment to glare at the cameraman and the booth attendant and then at Mulan, who’s stayed around to watch the fun.

Her uniform shirt is clinging, heavy and unpleasant, and as soon as she’s out, she peels it off, leaving only a tank top. She’d argued with David about the uniform and he’d insisted that she wear it, given the point of the exercise was visibility in the community. But she’s sopping wet, and if she has to endure this for several more hours, she’s going to make sure she’s at least a little more comfortable. She wrings out her shirt and tosses it over her shoulder and when she looks up, she finds Regina’s watching her, a smile playing about her lips.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emma says reproachfully.

“Sure I did.” Regina smirks and Emma wonders how it’s possible for someone to be so damn hot and yet so annoying at the same time. “As the Mayor of this town I’m committed to the highest standards of integrity in public office. And if I can do my part to ensure the Sheriff’s Department is both clean _and_ transparent, well…” Regina’s eyes drop to Emma’s torso and she belatedly realises that the tank top she’s wearing is not entirely opaque in its current state.

If it wasn’t so completely implausible, Emma might suspect that Regina was flirting with her right now. But that would be ridiculous. Definitely impossible. No, there’s no question in Emma’s mind. This is nothing more than gentle mockery.

“Well, as you can see, I have nothing to hide.”

“Indeed.” There’s something about the way Regina says this that’s like a shot of brandy warming her all the way deep into her belly. For a moment, she forgets she’s dripping wet and more than a little bit cold, because Regina’s voice, languid and half an octave lower than usual, is liquid heat in her veins and Emma wonders if it’s possible to get drunk just on words.

She doesn’t get a chance to find out, because she’s left standing there a moment later when Regina’s called to move on to her next filming opportunity. It’s only when she starts shivering a little that she comes back to herself, and realises Mulan’s been trying to talk to her.

“I take back what I said earlier.”

Emma frowns, confused. “What?”

“About you not having a hope of getting a date. Seems like I underestimated your powers.” Mulan’s looking at her with something like surprise and maybe a little admiration.

“What are you talking about?”

“The Mayor was totally checking you out. When you took off your shirt, I swear she didn’t blink for a full minute.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“I know what I saw, Swan, and she was looking at you like _you_ look at Bear Claws.”

“I’m not sure anyone has ever looked at another person the way I look at Bear Claws,” Emma says, and when Mulan looks like she wants to continue the discussion, she hastily tries to deflect. “So, you want me to try and get you that date?”

Emma’s pretty sure that Mulan wouldn’t need her help, except that over the course of a couple of post-shift drinking sessions at the Rabbit Hole, she’s discovered that one: Mulan has a knack for picking straight girls, and two: at the sight of a pretty girl, Mulan goes from badass to completely hopeless in under ten seconds.

Mulan shakes her head. “With my luck, Ruby’ll want to go out with you instead. Now, get back on that platform. I’ve got five dollars-worth of balls here.” Mulan tosses one up in the air as if to make her point.

Emma spots David heading in their direction, and as much as she’d like to argue, she’s not keen to get chewed out for failing to uphold his grand vision of a peaceful town. Grumbling, she climbs back up to her platform to await her next dunking. Mulan’s arm is as good as she promised and after three perfect hits, she gets bored and wanders away. It sets the tone for the rest of the day; the crowds start to head in soon afterwards, and apparently every juvenile delinquent in Storybrooke has an excellent throwing arm.

Emma watches the footage on the news later that evening. There’s a brief clip of herself and Regina and for a moment, she entertains the idea that maybe Mulan is right. She shakes her head and grabs a beer out of the refrigerator. Wishful thinking. That’s all it is.

*****

Emma collapses at her desk and groans when she sees the towering stack of paperwork in her inbox. For a town with very little real crime, there sure are a lot of reports to fill out. Today’s shaping up to be completely terrible; she’s just finished throwing Killian Jones, proprietor of Storybrooke’s kayak hire service _and_ town drunk, into lockup for the third time in two weeks. It’s only three in the afternoon and she wonders how it’s humanly possible to drink that much rum.

Mulan grins at her. “Heard you had to go pick up your boyfriend again.”

“Screw you.”

From across the room, Zelena, the dispatch officer calls out, “You know, he asked for you personally. When Mrs Lucas called in the drunk and disorderly, I heard him in the background, demanding you be the one to come and arrest him.”

“And you thought it would be a fun idea to send me?”

“Well he’s taken quite a shine to you, and I’ve always been a big believer in true love.” Zelena cackles maniacally for a moment, before taking her next call.

Emma seriously thinks about throwing a pen at her head, but then she remembers that as dispatch officer, Zelena literally holds the power to only send her on animal control callouts for the rest of her working life and she thinks better of it. She’s also heard some relatively farfetched rumours that Zelena may be a little too handy with computers in a not-strictly-legal kind of way, and she’s not particularly eager to get on her bad side on the off-chance that’s true.

Emma sniffs and pulls a face when she realises that some of the rum smell seems to still be clinging to her uniform. “Ugh. I need a shower.”

“That bad, huh?” Mulan gives her a look that Emma’s pretty sure is supposed to be sympathetic, but fails miserably at it, given the way she can’t quite keep her lips from quirking upwards.

“He tried to suggest a threesome with me and a mailbox he mistook for a woman. It wasn’t even a particularly attractive mailbox. I’m kind of insulted, actually.”

Mulan stops trying to suppress her smile and dissolves into outright laughter. “True love really is beautiful,” she gasps out, in between fits of laughter. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just…”

Emma rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m just glad someone’s getting some joy out of my pain. I mean, I thought I was special, but here he is looking at other mailboxes with lust in his eyes…” She can’t help it, everything about this is so awful and so ridiculous that she starts to laugh too.

Mulan looks at her helplessly for a moment, before another wave of laughter overtakes her and she falls off her chair.

It’s that moment that Henry Mills happens to walk in, accompanied by his mother. They’re both looking at Emma like she’s completely insane and she thinks that after today, maybe they’re right.

Emma hurries to compose herself, all humour suddenly evaporating under the weight of Regina’s stare. She finally gets herself under control, pausing for a moment to shoot a glare in Mulan’s direction.

“Madam Mayor. Henry. What can I do for you?”

“I got your message,” Regina says, “about the building site and the graffiti.”

“Oh, of course.” In the middle of everything else, she’d forgotten about that. “The site owner received the apology letter. He’s also advised us that he’d like Henry to clean up some graffiti on one of his other properties, one that isn’t an actual building site.”

Henry looks sulky and Emma’s not in the least bit moved by it. “You know, if you’re interested in turning in any of your co-conspirators, it’d probably lighten your workload a little.”

Regina nudges Henry and Emma’s not particularly surprised when he stays obstinately silent. Regina looks at her a little helplessly and says, “I’ve tried,” and from the frustration evident in Regina’s body language, she suspects there have been more than a few failed attempts at getting Henry to talk.

Emma summons an easy smile and says to Henry, “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.” She’s not particularly confident he’ll take her up on it, but having seen the mess of graffiti he’s supposed to clean up, maybe a little hard work will get him rethinking things.

Zelena interrupts any further conversation when she stops at Emma’s desk on the way to the break room. “Not going to come and say hello to your big sister?” she asks Regina. “I’m hurt.”

Regina rolls her eyes. “I would have. Eventually.” From her tone, Emma doubts the truth of that statement.

The look Zelena gives in return is sceptical. “Of course you would have, Sis,” she says before turning her attention to Henry. She reaches out and when she attempts to ruffle his hair, he dodges out of the way. Unperturbed, she smiles widely and asks, “And how’s my favourite nephew?”

“I’m your only nephew,” he says, but he smiles back anyway and Emma can see the momentary hurt on Regina’s face at even this minor sign of affection towards someone else.

“Well, can’t stand around and chit chat all day,” Zelena says. “There’s someone else’s dinner in the fridge with my name on it.”

Emma glares at her retreating figure. “After the call you sent me out on today, it better not be mine,” she calls out after her.

“I do have some standards,” Zelena says, before walking into the break room.

When she’s gone, Emma turns back to Regina. “Zelena’s your sister?” There’s no way she would have picked that.

Regina’s sigh speaks volumes. “She is.”


	4. Cigarettes will kill you (if Regina Mills doesn't get there first)

Emma’s off-duty, running some errands when she spots him. Henry’s sitting under a tree, cigarette in hand. She shakes her head and crosses the street. As she approaches he takes a draw and starts coughing. She comes to a stop in front of him a moment later and when he stops coughing, she holds out a hand, fixing him with her best disapproving stare. She’s pretty impressed with her effort, because he just sighs, before stubbing out the cigarette and handing it over.

She waits for a moment, before saying, “The rest of them, too.”

There’s an even bigger sigh. “Fine,” he says, reaching into his schoolbag and pulling out a pack.

She opens the pack. She raises an eyebrow when she sees it’s half-empty. “I really hope you didn’t smoke all of these.”

He shrugs. “It’s none of your business if I did.”

He looks like he’s preparing for a lecture and she bites her tongue, sensing it’s not the right moment. “How’d you even get these, kid? I can’t believe there’s anyone stupid enough in this town to sell cigarettes to the Mayor’s kid.”

“Took them from my English teacher.” He smirks obnoxiously, and Emma’s a little torn between admiration and a desire to wipe the smugness from his face with, say a couple of dozen hours of community service.

She shakes her head. “So not only are you, a minor, smoking cigarettes in public, but you’re also confessing to theft. Did you happen to hit your head sometime in the last week and forget about the squad car I drove you home in the other night?”

The smirk disappears and is replaced with indignation. “She stole them first; she confiscates them from students and then sneaks down and smokes them behind the equipment shed during free periods. I figured she wouldn’t miss a few.”

He starts coughing again, and she waits for him to finish, before saying, “It’s still stealing, kid.”

“Pretty sure it doesn’t count.”

She rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure it does, and I’m the one with the uniform and the badge, so I think my legal opinion carries a little more weight than a high schooler’s.”

He sticks his tongue out at her.

She sighs. “Come on, Henry. I’ll give you a ride home.”

He follows her back to the car, with far less argument than she expected. They get back to her Bug and he stands beside her, eyeing it suspiciously. “Think I liked your other ride better.”

“Only because you got to ride shotgun, last time. The view from the backseat is a lot less pleasant, trust me.”

Henry eyes her keenly. “How would you know?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would.” He’s looking at her with even more interest and maybe a kind of grudging respect.

“Perhaps we’ll save that story for next time, when I have to arrest you for robbing a bank or plotting a coup to overthrow the Mayor, or something.”

“I wouldn’t want my Mom’s job.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think it makes her happy.”

“So why’s she keep doing it?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. Maybe it’s just something to keep her from thinking too much about everything else. She hasn’t really been happy since Dad died.”

Emma tries not to listen to gossip, but she’s heard a little bit of Regina’s story. David had invited her home for dinner with him and his wife shortly after she’d arrived and she’d found out far more than she’d ever expected to know about Storybrooke and its residents. Her most important takeaway from the evening had been to never trust Mary Margaret with anything she didn’t want the entire town to know, but she was only slightly ashamed to admit that she’d also filed away a few important details about Regina Mills.

“So what’s up with the smoking, anyway, kid?” She doesn’t really expect an answer, so she’s surprised when she gets one, or at least part of one.

He shrugs. “I just wanted to know what it was like.”

“I could have saved you the trouble. It’s expensive and gross and really, really bad for you, particularly if your lungs already aren’t in great shape.”

“My Mom told you, didn’t she?”

“About your illness? Yeah, she did, which is why I don’t get this.”

“Other kids my age do something like this, and if their parents find out they get grounded. You know what Mom does? She gets angry, but then she gets so, so scared. I didn’t take my enzymes for a few days last year and wound up in hospital. I hadn’t seen her cry like that since Dad died.”

“If you know it hurts your mom so much, why’re you doing this?”

“Because it’s my life and as much as it fucking sucks, I want to make my own choices. I take more pills in a day than you probably take in a year. I spend two hours a day trying to make myself cough up the grossest shit you’ve ever seen and I’ve spent so much time in hospital that I know more about the nurses than I do the kids in my own grade at school. I’m sick of it.”

A moment later, his voice turns pleading. “Don’t tell my mom about this.”

She hesitates. She knows how important building trust is in a situation like this, but she’s also struggling with the ideal of holding something so significant back from Henry’s mother.

“I’m not going to say anything to your mom this time, Henry. But I’m also not going to make a habit of lying for you.”

Regina’s working in the front garden when Emma turns into the driveway. If she wasn’t seeing it with her own eyes, she never would have believed that Regina owned a pair of jeans, let alone a pair that fit so damn well. She can’t help but watch as Regina bends over to pick up a gardening implement and she offers a silent prayer of thanks to the patron saint of nicely-fitting denim.

She’s glad that she’s already put the handbrake on, because she feels like she’s on the verge of passing out. And she probably shouldn’t be having thoughts like this about Henry’s mom when he’s sitting all of a foot away in the passenger seat.

There’s a cold shower waiting for her at home and she turns to Henry, hoping he hasn’t caught any of the thoughts that have been running through her head for the past minute. He’s looking at her appraisingly and she thinks maybe she hasn’t gotten away with it after all.

“See you later, kid,” she says, hoping to get rid of him before Regina does something else distracting and he notices for sure.

Her plans to drop Henry and leave are thwarted when Regina leans in to talk to her through the window. Emma can’t help but notice the smudge of dirt on one of Regina’s cheeks and she puts her hands on the steering wheel to stop herself from reaching out and smoothing it away.

And it seems like Regina’s full of surprises today, because she gives Emma a soft smile

“Deputy Swan. How nice to see you again. Would you like to come in for a drink?”

She tries to stutter out a refusal, but apparently she’s not coherent enough, or maybe her tongue has betrayed her and said the opposite of what she was intending to say.

Whatever the case, Regina interprets her response as agreement. “Excellent. Follow me.”

Emma sighs and gets out of the car, following Regina and Henry. Trying not to embarrass herself in front of Regina again isn’t exactly how she’d planned on spending her afternoon, but judging by the way she can’t take her eyes off Regina’s perfect, denim-clad ass, she seems destined to make a fool of herself. It’s a prophecy that proves all too true when she trips over a rock a moment later, barely catching herself before she falls into Regina.

They get into the foyer of the house and Regina turns and pins her with an accusatory look. “Is that cigarette smoke I can smell?”

Henry’s eyes widen and he shoots her a frantic look, which he quickly disguises when Regina turns to face him.

“Uh, yeah… it’s Emma.”

“I didn’t realise you smoked.” There’s a disapproving eyebrow raise, and Emma thinks that maybe she should get video of that look and practise it in the mirror until she’s at least half as good. It’s uncanny the way that such a tiny shift in facial expression can make her feel like she’s just walked into the principal’s office and she’s about to get expelled for something she didn’t even do.

“I uh… haven’t smoked in a while, but you know, stress of the job… fell off the wagon.”

If she thought the look before had been bad, this one’s designed to make her feel like she’s been dragged through a field of cacti. “Please refrain from smoking around my son.”

“Of course, Regina. I’d never even think of doing that.”

“And perhaps I should take these and remove any temptation you might feel.”

Regina gets right up in her space and reaches in to take the pack of cigarettes from her breast pocket. And Emma has to bite her tongue to stop herself from confessing that the only temptation she’s feeling right now has absolutely nothing to do with the cigarettes, and everything to do with the woman holding them.

Regina turns to Henry. “Dear, go and wash up.” She leans in and tries to straighten his scarf. He tolerates it for a moment, but ducks away soon afterwards, retreating up the stairs with a grumbled protest.

They both watch Henry walk upstairs, then Regina turns to her.

“I’m not an idiot, Emma. I know those cigarettes weren’t yours.”

Emma thinks about denying it for a moment, but she knows she’s caught. “Look, Regina, I didn’t mean to…” She trails off, not quite sure what to say.

She’s expecting to be eviscerated, but instead Regina looks tired. Tired and wounded. 

“Do you really think it’s appropriate to keep something like this from me? I’m his mother, as much as he wishes I wasn’t,” Regina says, and Emma wants nothing more than to give her the hug she so desperately looks like she needs. She doesn’t, though, and settles on a brief, consoling hand on Regina’s arm. Regina allows the touch for a moment before shrugging her off.

“He doesn’t think that about you. And I’m sorry – I didn’t know what to do.” She runs a hand through her hair as she tries to work out how to explain. “It’s just… trust’s really important and I felt like I could do more good if he trusted me.”

Regina doesn’t respond. She just looks at her with her lips pressed together in a thin, tense line and Emma can feel herself starting to sweat under the silent scrutiny.

“If it’s any consolation, he’s never smoked before, and he’s not going to do it again,” Emma volunteers.

“And how can you be sure? Do you have some kind of crystal ball? A magic mirror?” Regina’s tone is harsher now and the anger Emma was expecting seems to be well on its way to arriving.

“I can’t be sure, but my instincts are telling me he’s being straight with me when he says he’s not going to.”

Regina laughs humourlessly. “I’m glad your instincts tell you that. What do they say about what’s next? Will he rob a bank? Smoke meth? Set the house on fire?”

Emma shakes her head. “He’s a good kid, just going through a few growing pains and I don’t think you believe he’d do any of those things.”

“Of course I don’t,” Regina snaps, “but I don’t like _this_. I don’t like feeling like other people know more about what’s going on with my son than I do.”

“I get that. And I don’t want to overstep, or get in the way of anything, so I’ll back off if you tell me to.”

As quickly as it came, the anger seems to subside and Regina’s left looking small, hollowed out. She shakes her head. “He won’t talk to me, but he talks to you,” she says. “Can you at least tell me if he’s doing okay?” There’s a quaver in her voice that Emma’s not used to hearing and she wishes she could do something, say something to comfort her.

She hesitates, because it feels like no answer will be the right one. “We haven’t talked much, but it seems like he’s got a lot he’s trying to figure out right now.”

“Will you…” Regina clears her throat. “Will you keep an eye on him? Make sure he’s okay?” Regina asks, and Emma can see how much that costs her. It’s far more trust than she would have expected.

“Of course. And if you need to talk…” There’s a brief smile of acknowledgment from Regina and even though she doesn’t think Regina will take her up on it, at least the offer’s out there.

Emma can see Regina’s composure returning, enough that her instincts as a hostess seem to be kicking in. “I’m sorry, Emma. I promised you a drink and I didn’t get you anything.” She looks faintly disgusted with herself and it’s a mark of how distressed she must have been to forget. “Can I get you a soda?”

Emma shakes her head, even though there’s a selfish part of her that very much wants to stay. “I should probably be heading off now. Another time?”

“Another time,” Regina agrees, and the grateful smile Emma receives tells her she’s made the right choice.


	5. Officer Nice Guns

Marian comes to visit and it’s a relief. She’s always glad to see her, but she thinks this is the most at sea she’s felt since Daniel’s death and Marian, strong and steady, is something to hold onto, a brief moment of calm in the storm. Henry shows no signs of letting up his silent war of attrition and dinner is a tense affair until Henry excuses himself to go to bed early.

They settle in her study and she pours what’s likely to be the first of many glasses of wine.

She knows Marian has picked up on the conflict between her and Henry, but she also knows Marian won’t press her on it until she’s ready to talk. She tries to push her troubles aside for a moment, hoping to distract herself with the details of Marian’s life.

“Tell me _all_ your stories. How many lives did you save? Were any children named after you? Did anyone build a statue in your honour?”

Marian glares at her. “That was _once_. You promised you’d stop teasing me about that.”

Regina grins. “I lied.”

A little sheepishly, Marian confesses a moment later, “There were three kids this time.”

Regina can’t help herself. She loses it completely and even Marian smacking her on the arm isn’t enough to stop her laughing.

When she finally stops, Marian asks, “So how’s that crazy sister of yours doing?”

“She got a job working dispatch at the Sheriff’s office.”

“Seriously? Zelena’s working in law enforcement?” Marian’s eyebrows shoot up. “This is the same Zelena who hacked all my social media accounts in college and impersonated me to try and defame you _and_ stalk our mutual ex-boyfriend, right?”

Regina sighs. Even though she and Zelena are slowly working their way from sworn enemies to uneasy truce to an actual sisterly relationship, it’s hard to totally forget just how completely Zelena had tried to blow up her life. She’d thought getting stuck with a step-sister in Mary Margaret had been bad enough, but finding out about her long-lost sister was a whole other thing, particularly when said sister had the means _and_ the desire to make a whole lot of trouble for her.

“Honestly, I had nothing to do with it. It was as much of a surprise to me as it is to you,” she says. And it _had_ been a surprise and for a moment she’d thought about questioning the Sheriff’s hiring choices, but she’d figured Zelena deserved a shot.  

“Hey, speaking of ex-boyfriends, you ever wonder what Robin’s up to these days?”

Regina snorted. “Definitely not.” She supposes she owes him some small gratitude given that his mere existence had led to her finding the best friend she’d ever had, but given that it had been the direct result of him dating them both at the same time, she’s not sure she’s willing to concede even that much.

“Me neither.”

Marian tops up their glasses and then leans back, regarding her thoughtfully. “Is there anyone new on the horizon? Any juicy gossip you haven’t shared while I’ve been away?”

Regina shakes her head. “You know I don’t really have time for dating.”

“Surely Storybrooke isn’t entirely devoid of eligible bachelors or bachelorettes?”

“I don’t know what to tell you. If they’re out there, I haven’t found them. Not that I’ve been looking.” Actually, she’s been doing a lot of looking, specifically at one Emma Swan, but looking is all it is. There have been moments when she’s been tempted to offer Emma that rain check on a drink, but she hasn’t quite got there yet, even if she has been finding a few more reasons than usual to visit the Sheriff’s Department.

“You’re not a nun, Regina. At least you weren’t when we were in college.” Marian waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “When’s the last time you got some action?”

“You were there.”

Marian’s eyes widen. “Two years ago? Have you checked yourself for cobwebs?”

Regina glares and when she doesn’t respond, Marian continues. “Don’t you think it’s time you started looking? I mean, what if I couldn’t be there to drink too much wine and fall into bed with you every couple of years?”

There’s something strange about the way Marian’s looking at her and Regina narrows her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I met someone,” Marian says softly and there’s a light in her eyes that makes Regina think that maybe this _someone_ is serious.

There’s a strange, dull ache in her chest at the thought of Marian settling down with someone. They were never serious, not that way, but somehow she’d always felt like Marian was hers in some way. Maybe it was because whenever Marian came home from saving the world needing to rest and recharge, Regina was always the first person she’d come to.

“So tell me about this mystery person,” she says, trying to push that feeling aside.

“Her name’s Guinevere. I met her when I was working in Myanmar last year. Her grandfather’s the patron of a charity that built a maternal health clinic over there.” Marian pulls out her phone and there’s a picture of an attractive woman where there had only ever been a stock background before.

“She’s gorgeous.” And she really is, and that has Regina feeling more than a little envious for a moment. She frowns and looks a little harder at the photo wondering why Guinevere seems strangely familiar. “Last year, huh? I can’t believe you managed to keep quiet about this for so long.”

Marian shrugs. “I wasn’t sure how serious it was at first. And I kind of needed to keep it quiet for a while. She’s a little too high profile.”

Regina raises an eyebrow. “High profile?”

Marian screws up her face, before admitting, “Her father’s tenth in line to the throne of the United Kingdom.”

“Wait a second. The Marian I remember staging a sit-in in a tree to protest a McDonalds being built on campus is in love with a member of the British royalty?”

Marian throws a cushion at her and Regina has just enough dexterity left to dodge it _and_ mostly keep from spilling her glass of wine. Some of it sloshes over the edge of the glass and pools on the sofa.

“Sorry.”

When Regina starts to move to get up, Marian shakes her head. “Let me.” She gets up and grabs some tissues from the box on the desk and pauses a moment, apparently distracted by something. “You know it’s only January, right?”

Regina can feel herself blushing, because she knows _exactly_ what Marian’s looking at. “Of course. Are you going to bring those tissues anytime soon or am I going to have to mop this up with my dress?” Regina tries to play it cool, but she’s had far too much wine and Marian knows her too well to be fooled.

Marian hands her the tissues. “So, Officer July…” Marian trails off into expectant silence while Regina just glares at her. Marian walks back picks up the calendar and studies it before coming back to the sofa. “She’s very attractive… Fantastic arms.”

Regina sighs, because there’s absolutely no point pretending any longer. She might as well be honest with herself and with Marian. “She _is_ very attractive,” she admits, as she takes the calendar from Marian.

“So tell me about Officer Nice Guns.” Marian rests her chin in her hand, watching her avidly.

“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know her. Not really.” And as much as she’s dissembling, it’s also kind of true. She knows Emma looks great in a tank top, particularly after being dunked in a pool of cold water. She knows that she does her grocery shopping on a Tuesday and that her cart is invariably full of ready meals and junk food. She knows that she drives a bright yellow Bug that looks like it should be sent to the scrapyard. She knows that Emma takes her job seriously and seems to care about the people she’s employed to protect. She knows all of this, but when she adds it up, it doesn’t seem like much. Certainly not enough to make any life-changing decisions.

Marian leans over and nudges her. “And _that’s_ why you should ask her out.”

Regina rolls her eyes, because Marian’s about as subtle as a freight train and she’d known this was coming the moment Marian had noticed the calendar.

“Just because you’re all loved up with your gorgeous let’s-save-the-world-together British princess doesn’t mean the rest of us get to be.”

“And why not?”

And that’s the million-dollar question right there. Why _can’t_ she have that too? Except she’d already had it once and the way it had ended, she’s not sure she could survive it again. But she doesn’t say that. Instead, she says, “Maybe I’m not ready to forget Daniel.”

“I don’t mean you have to forget him. He’s there and you’ll carry him in your heart forever, but it doesn’t mean there can’t be room for someone else, you know? I mean, the heart has four chambers…” Marian shakes her head. “I’m rambling. But you know what I mean.”

She _does_ know. But she also knows that as long as she lives, she’ll look for Daniel every day, half-expecting to see him there ready to share the details of her day. She knows that she still wakes up sometimes in the middle of the night and reaches over expecting to find him, instead finding nothing but cold sheets, and maybe she always will. And maybe there _is_ room, but maybe her heart’s like a house with shaky foundations and anyone she invites in will be caught in the inevitable collapse.

She takes a sip of her wine, hesitates and then speaks, not entirely sure what she’s going to say until it all comes rushing out.

“Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I didn’t have Henry to hold on to when Daniel died. I wonder about the person I would have become.” She shakes her head. “Some of the thoughts I had back then…”

“Regina, I was there. I remember what it was like, what you were like. You were hurting and that’s normal.”

Regina shakes her head. “You think you know, but there’s so much I didn’t say. Everything felt so dark and I wanted to drown myself in it, submerge and never come back. And there were times I was _that_ close.” She swallows, because it feels like there’s a lump the size of a bowling ball in her throat. “I wanted to hurt the world the way the world had hurt me and I think I would have let all that ugliness spill over if Henry hadn’t needed me to hold myself together.”

“Regina…” Marian’s looking at her with stricken eyes, apparently uncertain of what to say. And Regina’s not sure there’s anything she could say, really.

She continues, her tone flat, “And one of these days – maybe not tomorrow, but far too soon – one of these days, Henry won’t be there for me to hold on to either.”

She drains the rest of her glass of wine. “I’m tired,” she says and stands up. She doesn’t want to talk any more, doesn’t want to think about everything that’s wrong with her world.

She’s made up the guest bedroom, like she always does, but this time she’s expecting Marian to actually use it. She doesn’t, though. She follows Regina up to bed, slides in next to her and holds her until she falls asleep. There’s a moment when Regina feels like maybe she should protest, but she doesn’t because she’s desperately grateful for Marian’s presence. Sleep’s a long time coming, but maybe not as long as it might have been. 


	6. Henry Mills, intrepid reporter at your service

Just when Emma thinks she’s survived all the embarrassment Storybrooke’s unconventional policing methods could throw at her, she’s hit with another curve ball.

“The annual Storybrooke charity ball and auction’s coming up next week. I hope you haven’t forgotten about it.”

She vaguely remembers hearing something about it, but she hadn’t paid much attention at the time. “Yeah? What’s up for auction?” Emma asks, thinking David’s lining her up to put a bid on a poorly-made ceramic pot or some cross-stitch or something.

He looks at her, a frown creasing his brow. “You are, along with Mulan, August and Graham. Remember I discussed this with you last month?”

Emma shakes her head. “No freaking way.” There’s no way she would have forgotten something like that.

“You can’t pull out now. The orphans are depending on you.” He looks at her with big puppy-dog eyes and she can feel herself relenting a little. He’s managed to hit her in the one place she’s vulnerable, and looking at him, she thinks he knows it.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

He grins at her. “Great! Lance and Merlin have been embarrassing us for far too long, but this year we’re sure to beat the fire department. The novelty factor alone should guarantee us a win.”

She groans, wondering what she’s gotten herself into this time. Sure she’s a lot less likely to get her ass shot in Storybrooke than she had been in the Boston PD, but maybe a couple of bullet wounds would have been worth it for avoiding this humiliation.

David’s wife, Mary Margaret, walks into the station, making a beeline for them. “Did you convince her to do it?” she asks David.

He winks at his wife. “Sure did.”

“Was it the orphans that did it?”

If at all possible, his grin widens. “It never fails.”

Emma’s left with the distinct impression she’s just been stitched up.

*****

She’s surprised when Henry shows up at the station and asks her if she’ll let him interview her for a feature article he has to write for English class.

“Sure, kid. I mean, I don’t know that I’d make for the most interesting story, but you’re welcome to try.”

“Can we do it today? It’s due next week.”

She sighs. “I’ve got some paperwork I have to file or else the boss’ll kick my ass, but I should get off in the next hour or so.”

“I can wait,” he says.

She gestures at the chair next to her desk and he sits down and starts playing with his phone while she gets on with her paperwork. If she could have gotten out of it, she would, because paperwork’s her least favourite thing on earth, but she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said her ass was on the line. David had been by her desk three times this week chasing her for it and he’d threatened her with the dunking booth at the fair every year for the rest of her life.

After a few more sighs, a lot of tearing out her hair and one more visit by David, she finally gets her reports done.

“Okay, all done, kid.”

He smirks at her. “You’re worse than me when I’m doing my homework.”

“Honestly, this is nothing. I was so much worse than that in school when I had homework.” Belatedly, she remembers as a deputy she’s supposed to be setting a good example and that likely doesn’t quite qualify. “Probably shouldn’t be admitting that to you, should I?”

“Probably not. Do you mind me quoting you on that?” he asks, a cheeky grin creeping onto his face.

She mock-glares at him. “Off the record, kid. We haven’t started this interview yet. Speaking of which, where do you want to do it?”

“Can we get a milkshake at Granny’s Diner? They’re the best in town.”

“Sure thing, kid.”

It’s a short walk over from the station. When they get there, Henry looks at her beseechingly until she gives in and orders him a plate of fries to go with his milkshake, which happens to be the biggest size on the menu.

“Aren’t you gonna ruin your appetite for dinner?”

He shakes his head. “I’m starving. This won’t even touch the sides.”

The milkshakes arrive quickly and Emma watches Henry count out a number of capsules into his hand. He looks up, noticing her attention. “I have to take these with every meal otherwise I don’t digest my food properly.”

“Every meal?”

“Yeah, every meal. It sucks.” He pulls a face. “You don’t want to know what happens if I don’t take them, though. It’s way, way worse.”

That’s as communicative as he gets for the next for the next couple of minutes as he makes short work of his milkshake, sighing with evident pleasure when he’s done. “I haven’t had one of these in months. Mom read some article about dairy being worse for mucus and we haven’t had any milk in the house for ages.” He scowls. “It’s the worst.”

Emma frowns. “Am I gonna get in trouble from your mom because I let you have one of these? She was pretty pissed about the smoking.”

“You told her?” Henry says, suddenly hostile. “You’re just as bad she is.”

Emma shakes her head, even though she’s not sure she should be defending herself like this. “I didn’t have to tell her. She’d already guessed.”

He fumes silently for a moment. Then, “She didn’t say anything. I should have been grounded for the rest of high school, but she didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t seem particularly happy about that, which seems kind of weird.” Just when she thinks she’s got a read on this kid, he proves her wrong.

He picks up the straw from his milkshake, folding it over and over again, then dropping it onto the table beside his fries. “Yeah. I should be happy, shouldn’t I? I mean, it’s a get out of jail free card, right? But it just means she’s treating me different again. If I was just a regular kid she wouldn’t do that.”

She feels like she’s tiptoeing on eggshells; one wrong move and she’s going to break everything. And now that she’s getting more insight into Henry and Regina’s relationship, she’s starting to think that there are no right moves.

She tries as subtly as she can to change the subject, hoping to avoid being pressed for an opinion, because she’s honestly not sure what she should say. “So, are we gonna do this interview, or was this all a ruse to get me to send myself broke buying you food?”

He pretty much inhales half his plate of fries before speaking to her again and she’s impressed in spite of herself. “Okay. How about we start with a simple question. You’re pretty new to Storybrooke. Where did you grow up?”

“That’s a harder question than you might think, kid.” She twists her lips into a wry smile. “I was in foster care my whole childhood and I moved around a lot. Nothing ever quite stuck. It was new schools, new families or group homes what seemed like every few months.”

“Oh.” He seems taken by surprise and she can see him trying to think his way to the right response. Eventually he says, “That must have been tough.”

She shrugs. “I mean, it wasn’t great. When I was little, I always hoped I might get adopted, but you get older and it doesn’t happen and then you know it’s never gonna happen. There was a point, I think maybe when I was nine where I realised it was all pointless. I stopped trying at school, stopped trying to make friends, because I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d be moving to some other shitty group home and some other school where I’d be the poor kid with crap clothes and no parents.”

He hesitates for a moment, looking almost guilty as he says, “I’m adopted.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Found out when I was ten. It was a few months after I found out what my Cystic Fibrosis really means for me and for ages I thought maybe that was why I was given up. But Mom said that they didn’t know and so then for a while I wondered…” He breaks off mid-thought, but Emma can imagine what he’s leaving unsaid. She can imagine it, because she spent so much time thinking it’s mirror image. For her, it was always ‘why not me?’ and looking at Henry, she can almost see him wondering ‘why me?’ as if choosing him might have been a mistake. She looks at him and knows he’s still wondering, no matter how much he’d implied it had been in the past.

She’s not surprised when he abruptly changes the subject. “What were you doing before you came to Storybrooke?”

“I was living in Boston, working for the Boston PD.”

He eyes her curiously. “You were already a cop in a big city police force? Why would you give that up to come here and be a deputy?”

She shrugs. “Things change. _I_ changed. Guess I was looking for something a bit quieter.” That’s the simple answer. The complicated answer involves a story about a raid gone wrong, a partner who’d been dirty and feeding intel to some of the most dangerous criminals in Boston and an internal affairs investigation that had swept her up and derailed her career as part of the collateral damage. Even though she’d done nothing wrong, she’d been lucky to make it out the other side with any part of her reputation intact.

“What made you want to get into law enforcement?”

“I did some pretty dumb stuff when I was a kid and I’m lucky none of it came back to bite me on the ass. I guess I’ve seen firsthand just how much good or how much damage can be done, depending on who’s wearing the uniform and I decided that I wanted to be one of the good guys.”

Henry leans forward, suddenly very interested. “Just how dumb are we talking?”

She hesitates, because as much as she’s okay with talking about her past, she doesn’t necessarily want the details to become general knowledge in such a small town. She’s already learned how quickly and effectively the local gossip mill works. “Off the record, right?” He nods in confirmation. “The kind of dumb that can land you in juvie. I cleaned up my act pretty quick smart, but things could have gone pretty bad for me if I hadn’t.”

“What changed?”

“I didn’t think I had much going for me and neither did anyone else. I guess, one day, I just decided I wanted to prove everyone wrong.” She smiles. “And I did.”

She reaches over and casually steals one of Henry’s fries and the look he gives her is withering. She’s pretty sure he learned it from Regina. “You have any thoughts about what you want to do after you finish school?”

“I dunno. I kind of like writing and my teachers say I’m good at it.”

“Have you always wanted to be a writer?”

He shakes his head. “When I was younger, I wanted to be a swimmer. Win the Olympics. You know, stupid kid dreams. I started swimming because my doctor said it would be good for my lungs, but I kept going because no one thought I’d be able to make the swim team. I sure showed them.” There’s a grin of satisfaction, but it’s gone a moment later. “Of course, the other guys got too big and too fast the last couple of years. I saw the writing on the wall and quit the team before I got dropped.”

“You still swimming?”

He shakes his head. “It’s just not the same anymore. I think about what I used to be able to do and it just feels kind of empty, you know? And I was so sick last year I could barely get out of bed most days, let alone make it to the pool.”

“Do you miss it?”

There’s a wistful smile that creeps across his face and she knows the answer even before he vocalises it. “Yeah. It was one of the things that made me feel like people saw me, and I was more than just a diagnosis. I was part of a team for a while. But those guys, they’ve all moved forward, and…” He tails off and she can see him clenching his jaw. And she knows the words that are stuck in his throat, knows them like they’re her own.

“And you feel left behind.” She knows. “I’m sorry, kid.”

He’s focusing now on mashing the remaining few fries on his plate into smaller and smaller pieces, agitation evident in his every move.

She’s not sure now’s the right time to ask, but she decides to push her luck. “Those kids you were with when I busted you for that graffiti?”

He looks up. “They used to be friends.”

Used to be. “And you hoped…” She doesn’t need to finish the question, because he’s already nodding.

“Yeah. It didn’t make a difference, though.”

He sounds so matter of fact as he says it all and her heart breaks for him. “Is there anyone you’re close to?”

He tilts his glass over, peering into it as if more milkshake will somehow magically appear. “There are a couple of kids I talk to online. You know, other kids with CF. There’s a girl I’ve been talking to a lot lately and it feels like she’s the only person I can talk to sometimes. But it’s not the same as having someone to hang out with.”

He looks at his watch. “I should go. Mom will be starting to wonder where I am.”


	7. Auctions speak louder than words

Regina’s always been a little uncomfortable with the auction part of the charity ball, but she’d inherited it from the previous mayor and all her attempts to bring an end to it had attracted vocal protests. The fact that one Deputy Emma Swan happens to be one of the lots up for auction hasn’t changed her opinion on it, no matter how much Marian’s teased her about it over the past week.  

There’s a kind of fugue state that takes over when she does these things these days. She’d enjoyed being Mayor and everything that came with it when she’d first stepped into the role; after so long spent focused totally and completely on Henry, it had been a relief to rejoin the adult world. These days, though, there’s none of the pleasure and she finds herself resenting the way her duties keep her away from spending more time with Henry in the last few years before he goes away to college.

She looks over at the table where Henry’s sitting next to Marian. He’s laughing at something Marian’s said and she wonders if he only ever looks happy these days when he thinks she isn’t watching. She doesn’t think she’s seen him smile quite like that in the longest time and she feels a ridiculous stab of jealousy at the way everyone but her knows how to be what Henry needs.

He looks so handsome in the suit she’d picked out for him and she’s tempted to snap a surreptitious picture of him on her phone while he’s smiling. When she’d tried earlier, he’d scowled at her and given how much of a battle it had been to get him to come in the first place, she hadn’t wanted to push it. As if he’s heard her thoughts he looks over in her direction and the smile of a moment ago fades like it never was.

She manages not to let the hurt bleed through into her expression until Henry turns back to Marian. She’s almost grateful for the distraction when one of the event volunteers begins to fuss around her hooking up her microphone and then Mary Margaret rushes up to her and starts talking a mile a minute about something that Regina is apparently supposed to know all about.

She forces herself to plaster on a smile; she finds her step-sister grating at the best of times and this is far from that. Storybrooke’s biggest annual charity event is usually a source of stress for both of them and it’s probably a miracle that neither of them has murdered the other before now (although if she’s being honest, it’s mostly her wanting to murder Mary Margaret). It takes a moment, but she finally manages to ascertain that there’s some sort of crisis with the caterers and Mary Margaret appears to be on the verge of a breakdown over it. She suppresses the sigh that’s trying its hardest to escape and follows Mary Margaret off the stage. It doesn’t take long to hose down what turns out to be a very, very minor crisis.

When she’s on her way back to the stage, the creep who runs the kayak hire business pushes past, snarling at her to watch where she’s going. He’s carrying a heavy-looking gym bag that makes a suspicious jingling noise when he walks and it sounds like he’s robbed a couple of parking meters on his way in. Whatever the explanation, she’s pretty sure it’s unlikely to be above board. Regina feels a moment of pity for whoever he might be planning to bid on, because she can’t think of any other possible explanation.

The auction goes pretty much as these things always go. The longstanding rivalry between the Fire Department and the Sheriff’s Department shows no signs of abating and Regina can’t help but roll her eyes when she sees David high-fiving one of the deputies when Mulan gets the highest bid of the night so far.

Emma’s last in line to be auctioned and Regina feels her mouth go dry as Emma makes her way onto the stage. She allows herself a very brief moment to appreciate the sight of Emma in a sleek, form-fitting red dress and she’s so thrown when Emma catches her gaze and winks at her that she stares uncomprehendingly at her cue card for what seems an embarrassingly long time. Eventually she regains some semblance of her cool and manages to get her brain and her voice working enough to read the introduction that had been provided to her. It's entirely cringeworthy – all puppies and flowers and long walks on the beach – much like the last few descriptions had been, and she suspects Mary Margaret may have had more than a small hand in writing the introductions this year. She manages to mostly resist temptation to ad-lib a less generic introduction, even though Emma Swan really does deserve better. She looks over again and finds that Emma’s watching her. She allows a smile to creep onto her face and there’s an answering smile on Emma’s face.

She’s caught in that smile for a moment, before she remembers she hasn’t quite finished her duties. “Ladies and gentlemen, you may now start your bidding.”

She’s obviously not the only one to be thrown for a loop by Emma, because when bidding starts it doesn’t take long to hit four figures. Kayak-creep, it turns out, is one of them and Regina feels a little ill at the thought that he might be the one who wins the auction.

The bidding slows as people are priced out of the competition, but Kayak-creep is still going strong. Regina glances across at Emma and she can’t help but notice the smile that was there before is growing steadily less bright. Regina’s taken by the sudden urge to play knight-in-shining armour and save Emma from what seems like an awful fate, but she’s the Mayor and she knows it wouldn’t be appropriate, so she holds her tongue. Emma’s fate seems all but sealed as the auctioneer begins to make the final call.

“Four thousand dollars.”

There’s a bid at the last possible moment that’s almost double the next highest and Regina stifles a groan when she recognises the voice. She looks over at the table, hoping she’s wrong, but sure enough Henry is standing up holding up an auction token. She tries to catch his eye, but he’s studiously avoiding her gaze, and when she looks over at Marian she gets a beatific look in response.

She forces a smile onto her face when the auctioneer makes the final call, even though she’s furious. She’s not sure she entirely succeeds at keeping the irritation from her voice as she announces the outcome. “What a wonderful result. That’s dinner with Deputy Emma Swan sold for four thousand dollars, bringing the total raised by the auction to more than twelve thousand dollars. Don’t forget there’s still time to make a bid in the silent auction for some wonderful arts and crafts created by members of our very own community.”

Regina turns off her mic as Emma wanders over.

“I sure didn’t see that coming,” Emma says.

“Neither did I.” Regina’s tone is acidic and Emma’s eyebrows shoot up in response.

“You know I’m not really sure how this works, with Henry winning. I guess we’ll have to talk about it.”

“Oh, you can be sure I’ll be talking to Henry about this.” She’ll also be having words with Marian, because she can’t imagine that Henry managed to pull this off completely by himself. At the very least, she’s certain that Marian chose not to intervene if she wasn’t an active participant herself.

“I take it you didn’t know what Henry was going to do.”

Regina doesn’t respond, taking a deep breath and pressing her lips firmly together to avoid saying something she’ll regret.

Emma seems to get the message. “Sorry. I had no idea. I’d be lying though if I said I wasn’t relieved.” She shudders. “Dinner with Killian Jones is pretty much my worst nightmare.”

The event photographer is lurking in the background and he interrupts them. “Madam Mayor, we need to get a picture with Deputy Swan and the winning bidder.”

Regina looks back over at the table and Henry’s already on his way to the stage with Marian hot on his heels. When he gets there, Regina barely has enough time to give both of them a stern look, before Killian Jones storms onto the stage. From the smell of him, he’s been keeping the bartender busy all night, although when he lifts an arm to start waving his finger accusingly, his jacket moves aside and she notices a shape suspiciously like a hip flask.

“I demand the result be overturned. A child shouldn’t be eligible to bid in this auction.”

If she’s being honest, Regina’s inclined to agree with him. And if it had been anyone else making the complaint, she probably would have done something about it, but there’s something about Killian Jones that rubs her the wrong way. There’s also the small matter of Emma Swan looking at her with faintly beseeching eyes and the fact that as much as she would like to pretend, she’s not entirely unmoved by the urge to play saviour.

She’s saved from having to compromise herself by Marian jumping in. “Actually, the bid was mine. You know what kids are like. They get a kick out of pressing buttons and things like that and Henry seemed so excited about it so I let him place my bid.”

Henry looks like he’s about to start arguing with that characterisation of events, but he subsides when Marian winks at him.

“Umm… yeah, that’s right. Aunt Marian let me help her with her bid, because I thought it would be fun.” Henry pastes a wide, excited grin on and Regina can’t help rolling her eyes, because he’s playing it as young as he can.

Killian turns his attention to Henry. “You’re a child. You can’t take her on a date.”

Henry screws up his nose, still playing the elementary school kid for all he’s worth. “Ewww. As if I’d want to go on a date with her. She’s ancient.”

“Gee, thanks kid.” Regina has to stifle a laugh at Emma’s indignant expression.

Killian looks like he’s about to say something else, but she interrupts. She’s not about to let him harass her son any further. “I think you’ll find this matter is settled, Mr Jones. You were outbid by a considerable margin by an adult who registered for the auction.”

“You’re biased, because he’s your son. You’ll be sorry for this.” He steps into her space and Regina holds her ground, pinning him with a steely look.

“I would think very carefully about what you say to me.”

He looks about ready to say something else, but Emma steps in, pulling him back. “That’s enough,” Emma says. “I think it’s about time you were leaving.”

“I pawned a kayak for this,” he says, his voice turning whiny now, and Regina’s urge to punch him in the face is experiencing an exponential rate of growth. His next statement to the group at large does absolutely nothing to change that. “Emma Swan is mine. I won her fair and square.”

There’s a look of irritation on Emma’s face and Regina can’t help but notice her fingers tightening on Killian’s arm. “I don’t belong to anyone, least of all you,” Emma says and Regina’s not sure if the way that Killian flinches is in response to Emma’s iron grip, or the fierceness of her voice.

The photographer, still lurking in the background looking confused, interrupts. “So who’s going to be in this picture, then?”

Marian steps forward. “I am.”

Emma grimaces, still holding on to Killian. “I will be as soon as I’m finished dealing with this,” she says, before walking him off stage.

With Emma safely out of earshot, Regina takes the opportunity to usher Henry and Marian offstage and finally get to the bottom of this farce. It’s a struggle to keep her tone even when she speaks, but the last thing she needs is to make a scene. “Henry, what on earth were you thinking?”

The impishness of a moment ago evaporates and Henry’s expression lapses back into sullenness. He shrugs, looking every inch the moody teenager again and it seems like she’s not going to get any more of a response than that.

Regina pins Marian with an accusatory glare. “What the hell, Marian? You let Henry bid with your number?”

“He grabbed it before I could do anything about it.”

Regina’s pretty sure she knows the answer, but she asks anyway. “Why did you even have an auction number in the first place?”

Marian looks at her with an innocence Regina knows is feigned. “I was thinking of bidding on one of those lovely vases that were on display.”

Regina scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. My step-sister has all the ceramics skill of a baby elephant wearing oven mitts.”

Marian shrugs. “It’s a good cause. You know, the orphans and all.”

Emma returns and it seems like Killian Jones has been safely dispatched, because she smiles and offers a hand to Marian. “We haven’t met.”

“Marian Rodriguez.” Marian’s answering smile is luminous as she takes Emma’s hand and Regina can’t help the tendril of jealously she feels uncurl deep in her stomach. It’s ridiculous, she knows, just like everything else about this situation, but even that awareness does nothing to stifle the feeling.

“She’s Mom’s ex-girlfriend,” Henry offers and if Regina wasn’t ready to kill him before, she’s just about ready to now.

“Henry! That is more than enough from you.” She makes a mental note to have a serious talk about outing people without their permission when they’re not in the middle of a very public function.

If anything, though, her response only seems to encourage him based on the smirk creeping across his face. She’s also not sure what to make of Emma’s expression; there’s surprise there, but maybe something else and she’s not sure whether or not that’s a good thing.

She doesn’t get much more of a chance to consider what Emma might be thinking as Marian butts in again. “As you know, Regina, I’m leaving the country tomorrow for who knows how long and I’m afraid I won’t be here to take out the lovely Deputy Swan.” Marians grin widens. “I was thinking perhaps you might step into my place.”

Emma frowns. “Why would you bid when you’re not even going to be here?” she asks.

“I guess I’m just a sucker for a good cause.” Marian winks and normally Regina would find that charming, but tonight is most definitely an exception.

She rolls her eyes. “Right. The orphans…” She has a pretty strong hunch that’s not the cause Marian’s referring to. To Emma, she says, “You don’t have to do this, you know? I know how weird these things can be.”

Emma shrugs. “Honestly, I could use a night out.”

*****

Regina paces her bedroom in her dressing gown, with what seems like half her wardrobe laid out on her bed. The evening of her dinner with Emma has rushed up on her in a way that’s taken her by surprise and she wishes Marian was still here to help her pull herself together. She shakes her head at how ridiculous she must seem; a grown woman freaking out about dinner like a teenager getting ready for her first ever date. It’s just that it’s been a long time since she’s been out with anyone she’s interested in and she’s not sure she quite remembers how the process works. She’s not even sure there’s supposed to be a process, because she has absolutely no idea whether Emma has even the slightest interest in her.

She looks at the pile of clothing and sighs. If she’s already this incapable of picking an outfit, she can only imagine what the rest of the evening is going to be like. She makes a frustrated noise and grabs a few things off the bed, putting them on.

She goes downstairs into the kitchen where Henry’s in the middle of demolishing some pop tarts. He looks up when she walks in and pulls a face.

“Mom, you can’t wear that.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” She looks down at the perfectly respectable pantsuit she’d chosen.

He looks up to ceiling with a kind of fond exasperation. “Maybe if you were going to the office or a council meeting and trying to terrify them all into voting for something.”

She realises he’s right. She’d worn this exact outfit to a planning sub-committee meeting last month that had gotten more than a little combative. “Any bright ideas?”

He points at himself. “Fifteen-year-old boy. _Not_ a fashion expert.”

“Well, you’re all I’ve got right now.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Just, not that. Maybe something a little softer.”

She sighs. “Maybe I could cancel tonight. We could stay in and watch a movie, or play that video game Aunt Zelena got you for your birthday.”

He shakes his head. “You deserve a night out, Mom. A night where you don’t have to worry about work or anything other than having fun.”

“I’d have fun playing video games with you.”

“It’s not the same thing,” he says. “You never get to go out and do anything that’s not about being the Mayor. We can play video games together any time.” And maybe once that would have been true, but lately, every moment she manages to spend with Henry seems infinitely precious, particularly ones like this where there’s none of the friction that’s characterised most of their interactions over the last few months. She wants to say something to that effect, but she’s afraid she’ll break the spell they seem to be under and Henry will revert to the unyielding wall of sullenness that’s surrounded him so much of the time lately.

She hesitates. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Mom, I’m fifteen. I promise I’m not going to starve. I have three boxes of pop tarts, and there’s enough dairy-free lasagne in the freezer to last through the apocalypse.” He pulls a face at the last part and she sympathises, she really does, because she’s not exactly the biggest fan of fake cheese either. “In fact, if the zombie hordes choose tonight to invade, I’ll throw the frozen blocks of lasagne at them, because I’m pretty sure that’ll slow them right down.”

“If the zombie hordes invade tonight, the first thing you do is call me,” she says, her voice mock-stern.

He rolls his eyes. “Sure thing, Mom,” he says, but there’s a grin creeping across his face and she can feel an answering smile forming on her own lips. “Now go change.”

She heads back upstairs and takes another look at the clothing explosion on her bed. In among all the chaos there’s a dress she’d bought on impulse a couple of months ago, without any real idea of when she’d wear it. She’s not sure that tonight’s the right time for it either; there’s an ambiguity around this evening she’s not sure she wants to confront, but this is a dress that speaks to intent. She picks it up anyway and holds it up to herself in front of the mirror.

The clock on the bedside table tells her it’s getting late and she realises she doesn’t have time to mess around any longer. After a moment more of indecision, she finally puts the dress on and finishes getting ready.

He smiles when she walks back into the kitchen. “You look beautiful, Mom,” he says, and her heart feels fuller than it has in a long time.

The doorbell rings and it seems like the opportunity to change her mind has come and gone. She lingers for a little while longer, anyway, wanting to enjoy this rare moment for as long as she can. It’s almost enough to make her forget that there’s someone waiting for her, but Henry breaks that spell a moment later.

“Don’t worry about rushing home, Mom. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to finish some homework and play a few rounds of Space Paranoids,” he says.

She smiles. “Don’t stay up too late.” She reaches out to smooth his hair back from his forehead, and for once, he allows the touch. She’s even more surprised when he leans over and kisses her on the cheek.

“Have a good night, Mom.”


	8. We don't have any raisins (shall we call this a date?)

Emma’s sitting in the backseat of the car fidgeting with her seatbelt when they pull up in front of Regina’s house. Even though she’s spent the last couple of hours getting ready, she doesn’t feel prepared for this. She’s filled with the same kind of nervous energy she’d always experienced in the lead-up to a raid, that same sense of uncertainty and looming danger that comes from opening a door when you’re not sure what’s going to meet you on the other side.

Of course, Regina’s unlikely to be armed (she hopes), but somehow that makes her seem no less terrifying to Emma, because she doesn’t quite know what to expect. She doesn’t know what the rules are tonight and nothing in the last few days has helped to clear that up. She’s still not sure she should read anything into Regina’s behaviour towards her, no matter what Mulan says.

In the aftermath of the auction she’d been confused; it seemed like there was some kind of silent understanding between Henry and Marian that she wasn’t party to, and as for Regina, she had no idea what was going through her mind.

The news that Marian and Regina had once been involved had been playing on her mind over the last few days. On the one hand, it was confirmation that Regina was interested in women and that maybe it wasn’t just wishful thinking that had Emma wondering about some of the looks Regina had cast her way over the past couple of months. It did leave her wondering, though, whether she was misreading things entirely and Regina was still interested in or involved with Marian.

 “We’re here,” Leroy says rather unnecessarily from the driver’s seat, because Emma could hardly have failed to notice.

He gets out of the car and opens her door, waiting by the car as she walks the few remaining steps to Regina’s front door. She takes them slowly (and not just because she doesn’t wear heels very often) until she’s standing on the front porch, her finger hovering over the doorbell.

She hears Leroy clear his throat behind her and she’s reminded of the fact that they have a reservation they’ll be late to if she messes around any longer, even though she kind of doubts any restaurant in town would turn the Mayor away. She summons what little nerve she has remaining and rings the doorbell.

She’s almost too stunned to respond Regina’s greeting when the door opens, because while she’d never failed to notice just how attractive Regina was, tonight she’s beautiful in a way that Emma’s not sure she has words to describe. And the dress she’s wearing, the way it clings in all the right places, she knows it’s going to haunt her dreams for weeks to come.

Regina’s lips curve into a smile and Emma finds herself transfixed by them, by the slightly darker than usual colour of her lipstick and the tiny scar that should be a flaw but is somehow the opposite.

“You clean up well,” Regina says, and the way her eyes flick up and down appraisingly makes Emma feel unaccountably warm.

She can feel herself blushing and she stutters out a response, immediately kicking herself for how ridiculous she must sound.

She’s still trying to compose herself when Regina says, “Shall we go?”

The ride to the restaurant is mostly silent. Emma tries and fails to think of conversation starters, rejecting every idea as it comes.

Regina’s drumming her fingers against the leather of the seat and Emma wonders if it’s nerves or irritation. She looks over and tries to catch Regina’s eye. The tight smile she receives in response leaves her none the wiser.

They arrive at the restaurant. It’s one of the fancier ones in Storybrooke, the kind that Emma usually avoids.

“Have you been here before?” Regina asks, as they take their seats.

Emma shakes her head. “Honestly, if I eat out, it’s usually at Granny’s. I don’t exactly have anyone to take to places like this.”

“I know what you mean,” Regina says and Emma wonders if she really does, or if she’s just saying that.

They have one of the better tables in the restaurant; they’re next to a window and Emma takes a moment to appreciate the view out over the harbour.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Regina says, and Emma turns her head to find Regina watching her closely. She doesn’t get much of a chance to appreciate the view further, or consider the look Regina’s giving her, because the waiter interrupts a moment later.

The waiter seems to know Regina very well, because he asks her if she’d like a glass of her usual wine.

Regina hums for a moment, considering her answer, before responding. “Maybe leave the wine list with us for a couple of minutes.”

After the waiter leaves, Emma says, “I’m guessing you come here pretty often.”

“I do. Usually for business, though. Never for pleasure,” Regina says, her voice a little husky, and Emma’s left wondering if she’s supposed to be the former or the latter.

She wants to ask, but she doesn’t know how to without sounding presumptuous. Instead, she looks down at the wine list, which starts to feel like a mistake as she stares awkwardly at all the names she doesn’t recognise. Her knowledge of wine pretty much begins at white and ends at red and almost nothing on this list sounds even vaguely familiar.

Regina must pick up on her discomfort, even if she’s wrong about the source of it, because she interrupts her mystified contemplation of the obscure grape names in front of her. “I meant what I said about you not having to do this,” she says.

Emma looks up.

Regina’s brow is creased into a worried frown and she’s plucking at invisible lint on the tablecloth. There’s something reassuring about the thought that maybe Regina’s just as nervous as she is and for the first time she feels like maybe she isn’t completely out of her depth.

She kind of wants to admit that she probably would have fought some sort of mystical hell-beast armed with nothing more than a spork if that was what it took to get Regina to notice her and that the indignity of being auctioned off was a relatively minor price to pay. She’s also pretty sure admitting that would reveal her as being hopelessly uncool and ruin any hypothetical chance she might have with Regina.

“I’m not here because I have to be. I’m here because I _want_ to be,” she says, and she can feel her heart speed up as she waits for Regina’s response.

She’s never been particularly good at choosing the right thing to say, but maybe this time she has, because Regina’s hands stop their nervous surveillance of the tablecloth and her brow unknits and then there’s a genuine, open smile that makes Emma feel like an entire army of hell-beasts wouldn’t be enough to stand in her way.

The waiter returns a moment later and she picks a name from the wine list at random, relieved when both he and Regina make approving noises at her choice.

She sips her wine slowly when it arrives, resisting the temptation to gulp it down for some liquid courage. Regina’s watching her and it looks like there’s a question on her lips, but she keeps hesitating.

Emma puts her glass down. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?”

Regina hesitates again, spinning her wine glass between her fingers. Eventually, she says, “I’ve been wondering for a while why you came to Storybrooke to become a Deputy when you’ve got so much experience in law enforcement.” 

“Did Henry tell you about that?”

“No.” There’s a look on Regina’s face that might even be a hint of shame and Emma can read between the lines.

She raises an eyebrow. “So you’ve been reading up on me, then?”

Regina meets her gaze, direct and honest. “It seemed like you were spending quite a bit of time with Henry so I looked into a few things. I just wanted to know more about who you were.”

She lets Regina stew for a moment before responding. “I get it.” And she does. She understands Regina’s urge to protect well enough to forgive the slight trespass. “So what did you think of what you read?”

“It sounds like you were a good officer.”

“I was,” Emma says, smiling ruefully. “I still am, I hope.”

“What really happened?” Regina asks, her tone neutral.

Emma shrugs, attempting to feign nonchalance she definitely doesn’t feel. Even though the wounds are getting older, it still hurts to think about the way things had gone down. “My partner was dirty, and by the end of it all, half the department thought I was dirty too and the other half thought I was a snitch. Either way, I didn’t have many friends left. It kind of killed my confidence for a while and I figured I was better off getting out of there, looking for a fresh start.”

“Do you want to go back to big city policing?” Regina asks, eyeing her keenly.

It’s a question she’s not sure she knows the answer to, because there _are_ moments when she misses the challenge, but the kind of work she’s doing in Storybrooke has its rewards, even if they’re not always immediately obvious. “Maybe someday,” she says, and she swears she catches a flicker of disappointment on Regina’s face. “I’m glad I chose to come here though. It’s not quite what I expected.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Regina asks.

Emma smiles. “A very good thing,” she says, and Regina’s eyes soften and linger on her until the waiter interrupts with their meals.

Emma takes another sip of her mostly-untouched glass of wine and knows she can’t even pretend that the sudden warmth she’s feeling is due to the alcohol.

*****

Regina’s house is closer, so Leroy stops there first. Emma’s mouth goes dry; she’s not sure what the right move is. It feels like there’s been a current between them this whole evening, a charge building that needs to be released. All she knows is she’s not quite ready for this night to be over.

She’s saved from having to risk the possibility of rejection when Regina asks, “Would you like to come in for a drink? I seem to remember promising you one some time ago.”

“I’d like that,” she says, and her mouth is still so bone dry she has to work hard to get out the words.

“You want me to wait?” Leroy asks.

Emma hesitates, not wanting to presume anything and Regina answers for her. “No. Thank you, Leroy.” It’s a response that does absolutely nothing to defuse the nervous anticipation she’s feeling.

They get out of the car and walk up the driveway. She stands to the side while Regina fumbles with the keys. Regina drops them on the doorstep and Emma bends to pick them up. She straightens up, holding the keys out to Regina, and then realises just how close they’re standing now. Regina takes the keys, but doesn’t quite draw away and she’s looking at Emma, her lips slightly parted.

Regina’s near enough that she would barely need to lean forward to completely close the distance between them. She hesitates though, because she’s still not sure she dares to hope that Regina is thinking the same thing. And maybe she’s not, or maybe she figures it would be a bad look for the Mayor and a deputy Sheriff to be necking on the front porch like a pair of teenagers. Whatever the case, she turns away a moment later, finally getting the key into the lock and pushing the front door open.

Regina’s hand is warm against her back as she leads her into her study and over to the cabinet where she keeps her liquor. She pulls out two crystal tumblers, pouring hefty measures of cider into them both, before pressing one into Emma’s hand, her fingers lingering on Emma’s wrist for a moment. It’s undeniably intimate and Emma can’t help the shuddering breath she draws, or the way that her hand trembles enough that she’s worried about spilling her drink.

She stares at Regina wide-eyed and Regina meets and holds her gaze. This time, Emma thinks, maybe she will lean in. Maybe they’ll both lean in and cut through the simmering tension between them.

Regina’s eyes dip down for a moment settling on Emma’s lips, before flicking back up to meet her gaze again. There’s an almost imperceptible shift in Regina’s expression and then she’s stepping back away from Emma, the moment apparently lost.

“I’m just going to go upstairs and check on Henry. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Regina leaves her standing in her study, and Emma ponders the vastly different circumstances to the first time she’d been here. She’s tempted to take a big gulp of her cider, but she wants her wits about her. There’s a knot of anticipation low in her stomach that keeps winding tighter and tighter with each passing moment as she waits for Regina to return.


	9. Please look after this bear

She leans against the wall in the hallway for a moment before heading up the stairs. She _is_ going to check on Henry; she does it every night, even if it’s just standing by the door, listening to the sound of him breathing as he sleeps. If she’s honest, though, she’s also looking for an excuse to catch her breath, a moment away from the affecting presence of Emma Swan where she can make sure of her own mind.

There are things she wants, things she has no right to expect, things she’s not even sure she deserves. She had happiness once and maybe one chance is all anyone can reasonably hope for in this life. And really, she’s not even sure that Emma Swan is supposed to be the second chance she craves. She’s not sure, but she thinks maybe she wants to find out.  

She climbs the stairs and pauses outside Henry’s room, listening for that familiar sound. It’s quiet, too quiet, and she presses her ear harder against the door. There’s silence there, nothing more than the sound of her own breath and her heart, suddenly fast, pulsing in her ears. She turns the handle, dreading what she’ll find, because even though death is supposed to be slow and creeping, there’s always that niggling worry that maybe it’ll be sudden. She’s known suddenness, known the white-hot searing pain of unexpected grief, but she’s not sure if it’s better or worse than the fore-warning of relentless, unyielding decline.

She steels herself and turns the door handle, pushes open the door, the dim light of the hallway doing little to illuminate the space. It’s just as silent as she’d feared and she can just make out the shape of Henry under the covers. She rushes over to the bed and pulls back the covers. The fear, the dread is quickly replaced as she sees the artfully arranged cushions and clothes and toys in the middle of the bed. Her emotions are like a sideshow chance wheel and she’s not quite sure where she’s going to land. Fear, relief, anger: she cycles through each of them far too quickly to get a handle on any of them.

She sits down on the bed and hugs Henry’s stuffed bear to her chest. He’d slept with it every night until he’d turned seven and he’d insisted he was too old for stuffed toys. Mr Bear had made a comeback in the long months after Daniel’s death, reclaiming his spot at the end of the bed, before he’d been permanently banished when Henry was eleven.

She thinks back to earlier in the evening when Henry had been as sweet as he’d been in a long time and she’d left the house in two minds, nervous about going to dinner with Emma, but also eager to stay home and connect with Henry in a way that she hadn’t in a while. Instead, it seems that a moment of connection should have provoked suspicion and she hates that this is what their relationship has come to.

There’s a dreadful irony that the symbol of all Henry’s sweetness is an instrument of his deceit and she feels tears pricking at her eyes. She swipes them away angrily, but a couple fall onto Mr Bear’s head. She smooths the worn fur, moistened by her tears, and then carefully tucks Mr Bear back into Henry’s bed.

She takes a moment to compose herself before heading back downstairs. She’s not sure she can handle Emma Swan seeing her break down again when she’s already seen so much of her vulnerability.

“I need you to leave,” she says when she walks back into her office and she hopes she’s managed to disguise just how distraught she is.

“Of course. It’s getting late, anyway.” Even in her state, Regina can’t help but notice the flicker of disappointment quickly cross Emma’s face. It’s replaced a moment later by concern and it seems that she hasn’t done nearly as good a job of keeping her distress a secret, because then Emma’s asking, “Regina, what’s wrong?”

There’s a tightness in her chest, a desperate squeezing that travels all the way up to her throat, and her voice is brittle as she says, “Henry’s gone.”

Emma frowns. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

“He’s _gone_. There’s a pile of clothes and pillows in his bed, but he’s not there.” She’s not sure how much clearer she could be than that and it seems Emma’s finally getting the message, because she’s crossing the room hurriedly to get to her side. Emma’s hand is warm on her shoulder, and she lets herself lean into the comfort of the touch for the briefest of moments before shrugging her hand off. She doesn’t have time to indulge that feeling; her comfort comes a distant second to her son’s safety.

“I need to find him.”

“How about we sit down for a moment and think this through?” Emma tries to lead her over to the sofa, but Regina can’t stay still, not at a time like this. She paces about the room trying to think of what to do, but her head, normally cool in a crisis, is whirling with dreadful possibilities.

Emma’s voice cuts through the maelstrom for a moment. “He’s got a cell phone, right? Have you tried calling him?”

She tries calling his phone and it goes straight to voicemail. Emma’s looking at her hopefully, but she shakes her head. “It’s switched off.”

“What about friends?”

“There’s no one he’s really been close with for a couple of years.” She tries a couple of the other parents anyway, and even though she wasn’t really expecting anything she still feels that tightness in her chest building and building. There’s so much that could go wrong, so many terrible scenarios running through her head and they seem less and less abstract by the minute.

“We should call this in, let the Sheriff know what’s going on.”

Regina continues to pace while Emma calls David and gives him a brief overview of the situation. After a couple of minutes, Emma hands the phone over to her. “He’s put me in charge of the investigation, but he has some questions.”

David’s questions don’t amount to much more than Emma’s had and she’s frustrated at how slowly things are moving.

“We’ll get the guys on patrol to keep an eye out for him, check out the usual spots kids hang out. In the meantime, tell Emma everything you can think of that might help,” David says.

She ends the call and turns to Emma. “What do we do next?”

Emma’s frowning again. “You know, he mentioned something to me a while ago about a girl he’d been talking to online. A girl with Cystic Fibrosis. He didn’t really tell me much about her, but maybe…” She trails off, looking at Regina, waiting for a response.

It’s something to hold onto, a problem to solve, an angle to exploit, and right now she’ll take just about anything. “How do we find this girl?”

“Do you know the password for his computer or any of his social media accounts?”

Regina shakes her head. She’d stopped enforcing those rules a few months ago, in the hope that if she allowed Henry a little more freedom and responsibility, he might stop pushing her away so much. Now, though, now she regrets that decision, because maybe she could have prevented this.

As if she can sense Regina’s thoughts, Emma says, “He probably wouldn’t have used those accounts anyway if you had the passwords.” Even though she suspects it’s supposed to, it doesn’t lessen the guilt even slightly.

“Another dead end, then.”

Emma shakes her head. “Not yet. Your sister’s good with computers, right?”

Regina can’t believe she hadn’t thought of that herself. “You’re right, she’s a bit of a wizard with them.” She almost manages a smile. Almost. “I’ll call her.”

“And while we’re waiting for her to do her magic, I might do some old-fashioned police work and check out a few places he might be.”

“Are you safe to drive?”

“Yeah. I mean I only had two drinks and they’ve pretty much worn off.” A moment later, Emma looks at her sheepishly. “I might need to borrow your car, though.”

She fumbles in her handbag and then tosses the keys to Emma.

Regina quickly fills Zelena on over the phone and it’s not long before the doorbell rings. Ordinarily, Zelena’s just about the last person she’d want to see at a time like this. But maybe, for once, she senses the seriousness of the situation, because her voice is almost gentle when she says, “It’s going to be alright, Sis. If there’s anything there, you can be sure I’ll find it.”

Zelena gets to work and Regina can’t stop herself from pacing about the room. Every now and then, she stops to peer over Zelena’s shoulder and watch her fingers fly across the keys in a kind of magic Regina has never been able to understand.

“I might get this done a little more quickly if you’d stop wearing a hole in the carpet behind me.”

“Sorry.” She sits down on Henry’s bed, and absent-mindedly picks up Mr Bear again, hugging him to her chest.

“Well I’ll say one thing, at least my nephew has a better grasp of online security than his mother,” Zelena says drily.

Regina’s too distracted to manage more than a cursory glare in Zelena’s direction, even though normally she’d come back with something just as biting.

There’s silence for a couple of minutes, punctuated only by an occasional flurry of keystrokes, until Zelena asks, “So how long have you been shagging the lovely Deputy Emma Swan?”

“Could you please just focus on finding Henry?” Regina snarls.

“I am. Just thought I’d make polite conversation while I’m waiting for this process to finish.”

“Polite?” Regina scoffs. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. And I’m not, as you so elegantly put it, shagging Emma Swan.”

“But you want to, right? I mean, I’ve seen those ridiculous pining looks you keep casting her way down at the station.” Zelena turns around to face her. “And you _have_ been showing up down there an awful lot since Emma started.”

Regina sighs as she realises what Zelena’s doing. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?” Zelena asks, and Regina thinks she’s never loved her sister quite so much as she does right now. That’s perhaps not saying a lot, because most of the time she resents Zelena, resents the way she’d crash-landed in her life, but right now that seems kind of trivial, because Zelena’s here when she needs her most.

“No,” she says quietly. “But thank you anyway.” She summons the ghost of a smile, as much as she can manage right now, and she’s warmed a little by the bright one she receives in return.

“So, Emma Swan?” Zelena asks, as she turns back to Henry’s computer.

“I…” She hesitates. “I think…”

She’s saved from confessing anything further when Zelena crows, “Take that, you bastard,” before turning back to her. “We’re in.”

Regina’s off the bed and across the room in an instant, peering over Zelena’s shoulder as she sifts through Henry’s accounts.

There’s not much to look at – Henry seems to have distressingly few close friends – and Regina’s heart twists at the thought of Henry’s loneliness. It doesn’t take long to find Henry’s chat logs with the girl, and after a little more magic, Zelena has a location.

She’s just about to call Emma when her phone rings. It’s Emma.

“Hey, Regina. I’m down at the bus station and it seems like he bought a ticket to Boston.”

“We got into his computer and that matches up with what we found.”

Emma ends the call with a promise to return quickly and Regina sits back down on the bed, suddenly exhausted. She’s been running at a fever pitch of worry and fear for what seems like hours and finally, finally it seems like they’re getting closer. Closer, but Henry’s got a several-hour head-start, and the thought of him on his own in a strange city brings with it a whole new series of worries.


	10. My milkshake (brings all the boys across state lines)

Emma calls David and fills him in on the progress in finding Henry. He’s not exactly keen on her heading to Boston, but she manages to talk him around. Afterwards, she jogs back to the car and drives back to Regina’s place as quickly as she can. She knows that time is of the essence in cases like these, and the fact that Henry got on the express bus to Boston six hours ago means he’s had more than enough time to get there and get into all kinds of trouble.

There’s a knot of worry deep in her stomach that she can’t quite shake. She knows Henry’s a clever kid, but she also knows that not everyone is what they seem, particularly online. She’s spent too many years as a cop seeing the ugliest side of human nature to have any illusions about what goes on in the world. And from the look on Regina’s face when she answers the door, she suspects more than a few of the same thoughts have occurred to her.

“David’s cleared me to go to Boston to try and track Henry down.”

“Good. How soon can we leave?”

We? She hadn’t planned on having company. “Uh… You should probably stay here just in case he comes home.”

“Not a chance in hell. He’s my son and I’m coming with you.” There’s a thread of steel in Regina’s voice and Emma can see how she’s been Mayor of Storybrooke for so long.

Zelena pipes up then and it’s two against one. “I can stay here and keep an eye out while I keep working on getting a trace on his phone. He’s bound to turn it on soon enough.”

Emma sighs, recognising that she’s fighting a losing battle. “Fine. Let’s not waste any more time arguing.” She’s also not sure she wants to stick around long enough to hear any more of the dubious details of Zelena’s detecting methods. Breaking into Henry’s computer and social media accounts was one thing, but she’s pretty sure it’s best she doesn’t know what else Zelena’s planning to do.

After a quick stop at her place to pack an overnight bag, it doesn’t take long to get on the road. They’re barely out of Storybrooke before Regina’s fast asleep, snoring softly and Emma can’t help the brief smile that forms at that picture. There’s a softness there that she’s not used to seeing; she’s used to the firm authority of Mayor Mills and the occasional glimpses of wounded vulnerability, but this is different. She’s taken by surprise by the intensity of the protective feeling welling up in her chest. It’s been a long time since she’s felt like this and she thinks she’d fight anything or anyone in the world to keep Regina and her son safe.

She’s also glad she won the argument about driving, because as sound as Regina’s sleeping, Emma’s pretty sure they wouldn’t have made it far before having to stop. She’s used to long nights of patrol and stakeouts and the bad coffee she’d loaded up on is still humming in her veins and will be for some time yet.

They’re an hour out of Boston when Emma stops at a gas station for a quick comfort break. Regina stirs and her voice is husky with sleep. “Are we there yet?”

Emma shakes her head. “Still a little bit to go.”

“I can take over driving if you want.”

“I’m still okay to drive and we’re not that far out. It’s been a long night and you should catch a bit more sleep while you can.”

They set off again and even though Regina still looks exhausted she doesn’t sleep. She plays with the radio for a bit before settling on something upbeat enough to keep Emma focused on driving.

Regina’s quiet and Emma takes the opportunity presented by a stretch of straight, empty road to glance over at her. Her face is tight with worry and she’s wringing her hands in her lap and Emma wishes there was something she could do to comfort her. She hesitates for a moment then reaches over to soothe Regina’s agitated hands with her own. There’s an instant of tension before Emma feels Regina relax a little.

“He’s gonna be okay, you know?”

“I wish I could believe you,” Regina says, and her voice is thick with unshed tears.

“He will be. He’s a smart kid.” She fills her voice with all the certainty she can muster, and maybe she’s trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to convince Regina, but that’s neither here nor there.

There’s nothing more than a clearing of Regina’s throat in response to that and then Emma feels Regina’s hands twitch beneath her own. A moment later, Regina’s clasping her hand between her own like a life-line and Emma hears her draw a shuddering breath.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Emma says and it feels like a prayer. She says it over and over in her head and she can almost hear Regina saying it too. She feels Regina’s fingers tighten around her own and neither of them let go until they’re pulling into the outskirts of Boston.

*****

Emma decides to head for the bus terminal first up. Even though Henry’s bus would have arrived hours ago, there’s always a chance he hasn’t strayed far, or that he might be on his way back. There’s a call from Zelena just as they’re getting close and Emma waits for Regina to finish talking to her. When Regina hangs up, she looks over expectantly.

“He’s still in Boston,” Regina says. “He turned his cell on a little while ago and Zelena’s going to send through a map with the area he’s in.”

Regina’s phone beeps a moment later, and Emma looks for a safe spot to pull over. She leans over to look at Regina’s phone and for the first time she’s actually feeling confident that they’re going to do this. It’s still a big area to cover, but Emma knows the city inside out.

They check out the bus terminal first, which is near the centre of the map Zelena sent, with no luck. There’s an all-night diner and a video game arcade next to the terminal they check out next; Henry isn’t in either of them and the photo they show to the staff is met with blank looks.

Regina looks despondent as they head back to the car. She leans against the car, head on her arms. Her voice is muffled, but Emma can hear the frustration and despair seeping into her voice as she says, “He could be right near us and we don’t have any way of knowing. We could wander around in circles for hours and never find him.”

She places a tentative arm around Regina’s shoulder, only allowing it to firm into a proper hug when Regina leans into her.

“We’re gonna find him. I promise,” she says.

“You can’t be sure of that,” Regina says, her voice sharp.

“I promise,” she repeats and she lets all the confidence and certainty she can wash through her voice. “There aren’t many places a kid could go at this time of night.”

They stand there for a moment, before Regina finally pulls away. “Well let’s not waste any more time, then,” she says and Emma’s reassured by the sudden fierce determination in her eyes and her voice.

They pull up outside another all-night diner which Emma’s pleased to see still has a flashing sign advertising its ‘best milkshakes in town’. She’d stopped in there more than once during long nights as a beat cop and she knows their claims aren’t even slightly exaggerated. If this place doesn’t pan out, she’s still got a few ideas left, but she’s hopeful that this might be the one.

They get out of the car and Emma takes a deep breath before pushing open the door to the diner. She notices Regina do the same, notices the way the air rushes out of her lungs the moment she spots Henry sitting in a booth in the back corner, with a couple of empty milkshake glasses sitting on the table in front of him. He looks tired and his mouth is drooping at the corners as he fiddles with the straw in one of the empty glasses. He looks up and sees them a moment after they see him and his expression quickly shifts into an ‘oh-shit-I’ve-been caught’ kind of look.

Emma hangs back awkwardly as Regina hurries over to Henry and watches as she slides into the booth beside him. He turns his shoulders away from Regina and Emma can see her expression shift momentarily from relief to distress. He relents a moment later and leans into Regina’s outstretched arms, allowing a hug that goes from awkward to affirming. Emma can hear Regina sobbing Henry’s name over and over, her nose buried in his hair, and she feels like an interloper, intruding on a moment she’s not meant to be a part of.

She sits down at a table and gratefully accepts a cup of coffee from the waitress. While she’s waiting for Regina and Henry to do what they need to do, she pulls out her phone and looks for a place to stay. She’s been going non-stop for 24 hours and she’s not sure how much longer she can keep it up. And judging by the twin sets of red-rimmed eyes Regina and Henry have when they walk over to her table together a few minutes later, she’s made the right decision.


	11. This page is intentionally blank (and so are all the others)

They’d all been exhausted when they got to the motel Emma had found for them all and as much as she and Henry needed to talk things through, sleep had been far more important. She’s awake now, though Henry’s still snoring and she tiptoes around the room trying not to disturb him. She sits down and tries to catch up on her emails, but she’s too restless to sit still. She’s also dying for a coffee and she decides she might as well stretch her legs while she’s waiting for Henry to wake up.

She runs into Emma on her way out. Her hair, still damp from the shower, is pulled back into a messy pony tail and she’s wearing a tank top that shows off every inch of her toned arms that has Regina flashing back to a very similar outfit she’d been wearing at the Storybrooke Fair. And if that wasn’t enough to make her a sight for sore eyes, she’s also juggling a couple of takeaway coffee cups.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be up, but I figured I’d bring you a coffee anyway just in case.” Emma hands her a cup of coffee and a brown paper bag that turns out to have a pastry in it and she thinks that Emma Swan may just be her favourite person in the world right now.

“Honestly, I could kiss you right now,” she says, not really thinking about her words until she notices the blush staining Emma’s cheeks.

Emma clears her throat awkwardly. “I got Henry something too. Is he up?”

She shakes her head. “He’s still asleep.”

“You wanna come hang out in my room for a bit?” When she hesitates, Emma says, “Or we could go sit on that bench over there and drink our coffee. It’s got a very good line of sight to the door to your room.”

“Thanks,” she says, even though it doesn’t seem like nearly enough to express how grateful she is that Emma gets what’s worrying her. “I’m just not quite ready to trust him not to run out on me again.”

“I get that.”

She follows Emma over to the bench and they sit side-by-side, drinking their coffee.

“Have you had a chance to talk yet?” Emma asks.

She shakes her head. “Neither of us were in any condition to have a sensible conversation first thing this morning.” Even if they had been, Regina’s not sure she would have been ready. She’s dreading this conversation, dreading the looming possibility that her already fraught relationship with Henry will collapse even further.

“That was probably a good idea,” Emma says and it feels like she’s saying something just to fill the silence.

There’s an old cigarette butt on the ground next to her boot and she scuffs her sole against it, grinding it into the cement. “I don’t know what to say to him,” she eventually confesses.

“If you don’t know what to say, just listen to him,” Emma says and it seems like such an obvious solution, but she’s tried so many times and no matter what she does, Henry won’t talk to her.

“I wish children came with an instruction manual,” she says and she can’t quite keep the frustration and despair from spilling over into her voice, no matter how hard she tries. “I feel like everything I do is wrong and I don’t know how to make it right again.”

“You’re not a bad mother,” Emma says. It’s supposed to be reassuring, she supposes, but it’s not. Those two words, right there, are at the heart of all her fears and she’s spent all of Henry’s lifetime terrified they might be true.

“The current circumstances would seem to strongly suggest otherwise,” Regina says, bitterness seeping into her tone. She thinks about her own childhood, of the way her mother constantly blew hot and cold and she didn’t ever know where she stood and the constant fear of disappointing her and what that would mean. She rarely talks about her mother, because there are wounds there that have never quite healed, so she surprises herself when she shares a little of that with Emma. “I grew up resenting my own mother and I was so determined not to follow in her footsteps.” She shakes her head. “It seems I’ve utterly failed at that."

“You haven’t,” Emma says, her voice soft. “He cares about you. It’s just a difficult time, but things will get better.” Her voice a little firmer, Emma says, “I’m sure of it.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but Regina’s not at all confident that Emma’s prediction will come to pass. She’s not sure she wants to dwell on her own shortcomings any longer for the time being.

“Have you ever thought about having children?” she asks, because there’s still so much about Emma she doesn’t know. And the more she learns about her, the more she wants to know.

Emma shrugs. She’s close enough that Regina can feel the movement against her own arm and then be disappointed when Emma shifts away slightly.

“I never really thought it would be possible in my old job. The kind of work I did, I don’t feel like I would have been able to give them the right kind of home. I kind of figured maybe further down the track, when things started to settle down, I could foster. There are so many kids who deserve a chance…” Emma’s looking off into the distance as she says this and Regina knows there’s a story there, yet another thing she’ll add to the list of things she’d like to learn about Emma.

She wants to ask, but she’s not sure now’s the time and she figures if Emma wanted to share any more she would. Instead, she takes another sip of her coffee and winces. It was awful when she started drinking it and if possible, it’s tasting even worse the further she gets. She thinks her taste buds might just be on the verge of a mutiny as she takes another sip.

She takes a bite of her pastry, more in the hopes it’ll dampen down the taste of bad coffee than out of any real appetite, and when she’s swallowed it, she says, “Thank you.”

“For the terrible coffee? I should probably be apologising for subjecting you to it, to be honest.”

Regina snorts. “You know what I mean. All of this. You didn’t have to do any of it. You could have just gone home and had a good night’s sleep.”

“You _know_ that wasn’t an option,” Emma says and she looks over at Regina, a frown creasing her brow. “Even if I didn’t have a badge that says it’s my duty, I wouldn’t have been able to stop until I knew you were both okay.”

Emma’s shifts back across the bench and the knowledge of her presence, the feel of her, strong and brave and dependable, warms Regina through. She leans closer, solidifies the contact and draws strength from her as long as she can.

“I’m here. Whatever you need, I’m here,” Emma says, and Regina finds that it’s not at all difficult to believe her. It’s enough. There’s nothing she would ask right now, but it’s enough just to know she’s there.

When she returns to her room, Henry’s sitting on the sofa watching television. She sits down beside him, watching the show without much interest.

After a while, she finally asks, “Can we talk?”

He’s silent for a moment. Then, “Do I have a choice?”

She sighs, and there’s exasperation and despair that she can’t quite keep out of her voice. “You know I can’t force you to tell me anything, but I want to understand what’s going on. Please, Henry.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just fidgets with the remote control, changing the station occasionally. Regina waits, trying to be patient, wondering if she’ll get anything from him, or if he’s already shut down like he has so many times before.

Eventually, he says, “Sometimes I feel like you don’t really see me.” He keeps flicking through stations with the remote, looking at the television rather than her. “It’s like you see the disease first. I’m a set of symptoms to be managed, a problem to be solved.”

“I promise that’s not how I think of you,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “But if I’ve made you feel that way, I’m sorry.”

He throws the remote across the room and she winces as it clatters against the wall. “That sounds like something the Mayor would say, not my mother.” His voice cracks as he says, “I’m not a voter you’re trying to appease or a crisis you’re trying to manage.”

And he’s right. It was a politician’s apology and this is something she can’t spin. It’s something she doesn’t want to spin, but at this point, she’s also not sure what she needs to say. She’s not sure there’s anything she _can_ say to make this better.

She pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, trying to ward off some of the tension that’s building and clear her head enough to see a way forward. She’s always been good at finding solutions – it’s what has made her such an effective Mayor – but Henry’s always been her biggest blind spot. She doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say, but words start spilling out anyway.

“Those first few months after we brought you home you cried all the time and I was terrified I was doing something wrong, that it was my fault somehow. I tried everything I could think of, but nothing worked. I feel like that now, like I don’t know how to be the mother you need.”

She looks over at him, at the white-knuckled fists by his sides, and wonders how they got to this place. When she looks at him, she thinks of a thousand ‘I love yous’, of sweet, sloppy toddler kisses and a sheaf of hand-drawn birthday cards that she still keeps in her top desk drawer. But all of that is a memory; there’s a sullen teenager sitting in his place and the love he felt seems to have turned to something else.

“I’m scared that I’m losing you, Henry.” Her voice cracks with the effort of keeping tears at bay. “Please just tell me what I need to do to fix this,” she says, her voice almost a whisper.

For a moment, she wonders if he’s heard her. Then, “Do you ever wish you hadn’t adopted me? That you’d chosen a different baby, one who was healthy?” He looks down at his lap as he asks this and the raw vulnerability on his face breaks her heart.

“Not even for a moment.” She clutches at one of his hands, feels the fist unknotting between her fingers and then he’s leaning in, allowing her to hug him. “I fell in love with you the moment I saw you and _nothing_ will ever change that.”

He’s crying now, great heaving sobs, and she tightens the hug. He lets her hold him far longer than she’d expected and she buries her nose in his hair, murmuring soothing nonsense words to him until his tears abate.

Eventually he settles back into the sofa and they sit there in silence for a while, half-pretending to watch whatever cartoon is on the television. She sneaks occasional glances at him and catches him watching her too, with a frown on his face.

She wants to say more, wants to ask about everything he’s been feeling, everything that’s been standing between them, but she’s terrified of breaking this fragile peace and scaring him away. Eventually, she asks, “Did you find what you were looking for here in Boston?”

There’s a ghost of a smile at that. “Yeah, I did.”

She wants to know about this girl that’s caught his attention. “Tell me about her.”

“You know about Violet?”

“Only that she exists and she’s the reason we’re all here.” She nudges him with her elbow. “So tell me.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess she just gets it. She gets me and I don’t have to pretend with her or explain things to her because she knows what it’s like too.” There’s a wistful look on his face as he says, “It was nice to – I don’t know – to just _be_ , for once.”

“She sounds pretty cool.”

He smiles. “Yeah, she is.”

She sighs, because she wants to savour this moment for a little longer, but she also knows she needs to be a parent and she can’t let this slide for too long. “You know you both put your health at risk by meeting up. That’s totally leaving aside the part where you ran away to another state.”

“I’m sorry if I worried you, Mom,” he says. It sounds genuine, but it doesn’t quite feel like enough after all of the heartache.

She shakes her head. “Henry, you didn’t just worry me. You scared the hell out of me.”

This time, he’s more subdued, and the apology he offers is without any of the previous qualifiers. He leans in and this time he’s the one hugging her. He’s still small enough that he has to reach up for her and she’s not sure she’ll ever be ready for the day to come when he grows taller than her.

“You know I can’t let you see her again. At least not without talking to Dr Whale and without her family’s permission.”

She’s expecting more pushback, so she’s surprised when he quietly says, “Yeah, I know.” He must see the surprise, because then he adds, “Her dad pretty much threatened to fire me into the sun if I came near her again anyway.”

“He threatened you?” Regina’s instantly outraged at the thought of anyone speaking to Henry like that and she’s ready to go give him a piece of her mind.

“Don’t worry, Mom. It wasn’t like that.”

She’s only slightly reassured, but Henry doesn’t seem too concerned. “I _am_ going to have to talk to her parents about all of this, anyway. Do you have their home number?”

“I can get it for you.” He hesitates for a moment and he looks at her, almost fearful. “Am I still allowed to talk to her, at least?” he asks.

“I hope so, but it is going to depend on what her parents say. I’ll do everything I can.”

He seems to accept that and she hopes for his sake, they’ll agree, because she can see how important it is to him.

There’s another silence, and then, “So how was your date with Emma?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

Henry eyes her sceptically. “It kind of seemed like it was. You were freaking out for an hour over your outfit… sounds like a date to me.”

“I just…” She pauses, trying to figure out what to say. “I like to look my best in all situations,” is what she finally arrives at. It’s not a lie, precisely, because she still doesn’t know exactly what Emma’s thoughts were on the matter.

Henry rolls his eyes, not buying her explanation at all. “Sure, Mom.”

“Henry,” she says, a warning note in her voice.

He ignores that and keeps going. “You know I was kind of banking on her keeping you occupied for a _lot_ longer. I thought I might even be able to make it back home before you realised I was gone.”

She doesn’t even want to think about what he might be implying right now.

“When you bid at the auction…” She leaves the question hanging. She’s still yet to get a straight answer from him, and Marian has long since escaped to a place where phone reception is decidedly patchy.

“I wanted something to keep you distracted and out of the house for a while. I _was_ planning to do this the night of the charity gala, but then you made me go with you and Marian.”

She finds herself wondering when her son turned into a criminal mastermind and she says as much.

He flashes her a quick grin which she can’t help but return, even though she’s supposed to be cross with him. “Besides,” he says, “you like her. I’m not wrong about that, am I?” It’s more a statement than a question and she wonders what she did to make her interest so obvious.

Rather than answer a question Henry already seems to know the answer to, she decides to change the subject. “Maybe we should see if Emma’s ready to head back home.”

“Okay.” And just when she thinks she’s succeeded in getting away from the topic, he says, “You know she likes you too, right?”

And as much as she’s tempted to, she’s not going to pump her son for information about what he might know about Emma. Intuitively, though, she knows what he’s saying is true. Even though it’s been a long time since she’s been involved with anyone, she still knows how to recognise interest when she sees it. She knows from the looks she’s caught Emma giving her and she knows from the way Emma’s breath had hitched when she stood a little too close last night. 

She knows, but she’s not quite ready to about it.

“Get your things together, Henry.”


	12. Desperation is a stinky cologne (and these crime stats aren't too fresh either)

Emma swears as she crumples up yet another form she’s supposed to be completing. It’s the third one she’s messed up in the last half hour and Mulan snorts when she misses her shot at the wastepaper basket.

She starts filling out the form again with much the same result, cursing again as she gets the dates wrong.

“At the rate you’re going they’ll have to cut down the entire Amazon for you to get your paperwork done,” Mulan says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m sure the Mayor wouldn’t be happy to know you’re wasting the City’s resources because you’re too busy daydreaming about her.” Mulan’s expression turns contemplative for a moment. “Although, on second thoughts, maybe she would.”

“Like you were any better the morning after your date with Ruby.”

She glares at Mulan and balls up another piece of paper, throwing it at her head. Mulan ducks and the paper ball soars over her head, hitting Zelena as she walks past carrying a cup of tea. A little bit of the tea spills and Zelena turns to her with a thunderous look.

“Hey! Bloody watch it, Swan.”

“Sorry Zelena.” Emma braces herself for the inevitable threat of every animal control and drunk and disorderly Zelena can throw at her. It doesn’t come.

Instead, Zelena says, “You better be. Otherwise I’ll tell my sister you voted for Trump and then she’ll never go out with you.”

A few heads pop up around the room and suddenly, very unwillingly, she’s the centre of attention for more than one reason.

“You voted for Trump?” comes a question from the other end of the station.

“No.” She cuts that one off quickly, but there are more questions being fired at her.

“You’re not dating the Mayor yet?” August asks. He grins a moment later. “That means I’m still in with a shot in the pool.”

Emma groans, because it seems like her mostly non-existent love life is now a hot topic of conversation in the squad room and has been for some time.

She pins Mulan with an accusatory look. “Were you the one who started the betting pool?”

“Not me, I promise.”

Emma squints at her, trying to decide on the truthfulness of her response. Eventually, she decides Mulan’s telling the truth. She’s not off the hook yet, though. “You knew about it, though?”

“Maybe,” she admits. “I would have bought you a beer if I’d won.”

Zelena’s her next target, because honestly she wouldn’t put it past her.

“Not me either,” Zelena says. “Although, if you’d wait until the day after next to snog my sister, I’d be much obliged. And if you could take a picture of you both in front of that morning’s newspaper, that would be brilliant.”

“Go away, Zelena.”

“You know what you need, Swan? A good shag. You seem rather tense and it’ll do wonders for your mood.”

Zelena makes her escape before Emma can find something else to throw at her and the rest of the squad eventually get back to work, having realised the fun is well and truly over.

Emma tries to get back to work too, but she just can’t seem to focus on her paperwork. After everything that had happened, Emma figured the right thing to do was to give Regina and Henry the space to sort things out. Unfortunately, patience has never been one of her strong suits, and doing the right thing is doing absolutely nothing to help Emma with the small matter of her very much unresolved attraction to Regina. There had been a box of donuts and a thank you note on her desk on Monday morning when she’d arrived at the station, but other than that, it’s been total radio silence since then and she’s been growing more and more agitated with each day that passes.

She sighs loudly and Mulan looks up again from her own work. “You know, if you’re looking for a good pretext to see her, there’s always the monthly crime stats.”

“Do I look that desperate?” She shakes her head. “Don’t answer that.”

As it happens, she is that desperate. David looks at her like she’s grown a second head when she volunteers to do the crime stats briefing.

“Are you sure? I was going to make August do it after he only brought in $800 at the auction.” He shakes his head in disgust and Emma half-expects him to launch into another gloating session about how soundly his squad had beaten the hose-draggers this time.

She gets in a response before he can get distracted. “Yeah. I don’t mind.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, then. It’s your funeral.”

“She’s not _that_ bad.” She feels like she should stick up for Regina, but she also feels like she shouldn’t be too obvious about it, on the slight chance that David somehow hasn’t heard about the rumours sweeping through the rest of the squad.

“I know, but our numbers are. This hasn’t exactly been a stellar month for us. Unless you count arresting Killian Jones seventeen times for drunk and disorderly behaviour, our numbers for this month, quite frankly, suck. If you want to be the bearer of bad news, be my guest.”

A moment later he has an epiphany and Emma’s hopes of retaining some dignity and privacy are dashed. “But she _likes_ you. I should have thought of that before. Good work, Deputy. Make sure you’re wearing your nicest uniform.” He frowns and looks her over. “Do you own an iron? Maybe you can borrow one.”

*****

“Mmm, come in,” Regina says when she knocks on the door.

Emma walks in and Regina doesn’t look up immediately from the pile of paperwork on her desk. When she does, Emma almost misses the momentarily startled look that crosses her face. She covers it up quickly, that smooth politician smile taking its place as she gestures for Emma to take a seat.

“Sarah’s not in today?” She’d been surprised to find Regina’s ever-present assistant leaving the door unguarded.

“Lunch break.”

“Wow, she takes those? I was under the impression she lived on caffeine and enthusiasm alone.”

Regina looks a little irritated at that. “I’m not a tyrant, contrary to popular belief. I do let my staff take breaks.”

“Of course. I was just kidding.”

She puts a cup of coffee down in front of Regina, hoping that might be enough to break the ice.

“I thought I could make it up to you for subjecting you to that awful coffee back in Boston. There’s a new place on Main Street and from what I’ve heard they make a pretty good cup.” There had been a brief moment when she’d contemplated asking Regina to come try it out with her, but she’d chickened out at the last moment and decided to just bring Regina a coffee instead.

“Thanks.” Regina takes a sip and the brief look of pleasure that flits across her face makes Emma’s stomach do somersaults.

“So David sent you again?”

She shrugs, not quite sure she wants to admit that she’d volunteered for the job. Regina seems somehow exasperated by her presence and it’s not exactly filling Emma with confidence. Maybe she really had misread everything that had happened between them, or maybe Regina was having second thoughts.

Regina rolls her eyes. “Just how terrible are the numbers going to be this month?”

“Maybe I should have brought you two coffees. And a bottle of Scotch.” She winces, thinking about the numbers David had given her. “And a handwritten apology note from everyone in the squad.”

Regina sighs a long-suffering sigh. “Alright, lay them on me.”

She dutifully talks Regina through the numbers; they’re even more embarrassing than David had made them out to be and there’s absolutely no way to sugar-coat them.

When she finishes, Regina says, “Your squad had better start brushing up on their calligraphy.”

“I don’t know what to say, except sorry, I guess.”

Regina frowns, regarding her intently. “Do you have any thoughts on how the Sheriff’s Department might be able to improve on its performance?”

Emma hesitates. “It’s not really my place…” The last thing she wants to do is step on any toes.

“And I’m telling you it is. Storybrooke’s a growing town, but the capabilities of the Sheriff’s Department haven’t exactly kept pace with it.”

Regina’s all business now, and any thoughts Emma might have had about shifting the conversation onto other matters are well and truly gone.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking of me.”

“I’m not necessarily asking you anything. Just having some thoughts about the future. I want to make sure Storybrooke’s in good hands.” That politician’s smile is back and Emma’s not sure she likes where this is heading.

“David’s been really kind.”

“David’s always kind. But…”Regina leaves that thought hanging and it doesn’t take a lot for Emma to fill in the blanks.

Intuitively, she knows Regina’s right about the need for change in the Department. But it’s one thing to have that thought and another entirely to consider what it might mean.

“Regina…”

“Yes?”

“How are things with Henry?” It wasn’t what she’d meant to ask, but she does want to know if things are okay between the two of them.

There’s a brief smile at that. “Better. We’ve still got a long way to go, but we’re finally talking.”

Emma returns her smile, genuinely happy that things seem like they’re improving. “I’m glad.”

They sit there smiling at each other for a moment and just when Emma thinks maybe now might be the right to talk about other things, Regina’s phone rings.

Emma fidgets with her copy of the crime stats while she waits for Regina to finish on the phone. By the time Regina’s ready to talk to her again, she’s folded one of the sheets into a paper airplane.

“I’m sorry about that.” Regina smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I have a few urgent calls I have to make now, but I’d like you to think about what I said.”

She forces a smile, but she recognises the dismissal for what it is. “See you later, Regina.”

She’s just about to leave when Regina calls out, “And Emma…”

She turns around. “Yeah?”

“Tell your boss next time I expect him to deliver his own bad news.”

“Sure.” She leaves, feeling vaguely dissatisfied and she’s not sure if it’s with herself or Regina.

When she gets back to the station, Mulan takes one look at her and suggests going out for a drink after their shift finishes.

They’re halfway through their first beer and a game of pool when Mulan finally asks what’s going on.

She gulps down most of what remains of her drink and frustration creeps into her voice as she answers. “That’s just it. I don’t know. I don’t know where I stand with Regina.”

Mulan lines up her shot and sinks yet another ball. “Maybe this is a stupid question, but have you tried asking?”

She makes a non-committal noise in response that Mulan obviously takes as a no.

“Emma, I’ve seen you cuff a belligerent drunk twice your size in the time it takes most people to sneeze. Why are you being so chicken-shit about this?”

She doesn’t answer for a while, because she’s not sure she wants to admit all of what she’s feeling. Eventually, though, Mulan’s soft, concerned look wears her down. “I’m thirty-three years old and after making detective once, I’m starting from the bottom again. Meanwhile, Regina’s the Mayor. Do I need to say more?”

Mulan finally misses a shot and it’s Emma’s turn. There’s an easy shot there and she lines it up hoping that maybe she’ll be able to get back in the game with this.

“Emma, you have plenty to offer,” Mulan says, and Emma wishes she could believe her, but the words ‘out of your league’ are a constant refrain in her head.

Emma makes a disbelieving noise. “She pretty much always looks like she’s just stepped out of a photo shoot for a magazine and I…” Emma looks down at herself. “I look like someone who doesn’t even own an iron.”  

When Emma completely misses her next shot, Mulan screws up her face. “I mean, I wouldn’t try to impress her with your pool-playing abilities, but I don’t think you really need to. I think you’ve already got her attention.”

“I don’t know about that. It didn’t feel like it today.”

Mulan sighs. “A few days ago, you seemed so upbeat about things.”

And Mulan’s right; she had been. But now? “Things change. I know that better than anyone.”


	13. To have your cake (and eat her too)

It’s been almost a week since the Boston episode and Regina’s starting to feel like things are on a much more even keel. There are still moments when Henry reverts, but he’s a lot more present than he has been for the last few months.

She gets home from work and he’s sitting at the kitchen bench doing some homework. She gets a grunt in greeting that’s upgraded to a “Hey, Mom,” when she sighs.

Henry looks up from his textbook. “Have you talked to Emma yet?”

“We had a nice, professional conversation about the monthly crime stats today,” she says, even though she knows that’s not what Henry means.

“Mom, that’s totally weak-sauce.”

“I’m not being weak-sauce.” She curls her lip at how ridiculous the idiom sounds coming out of her mouth.

“Do I need to get myself arrested again to get you to talk to her?”

“You will do nothing of the sort.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Mom. And this, this is about as desperate as it gets.” He gestures dramatically, and Regina fleetingly entertains the thought that maybe it wasn’t actually that bad when he wasn’t talking to her. “I’m willing to sacrifice my good standing in the eyes of the law to ensure your happiness.”

Zelena joins them for dinner and she’s not sure if she and Henry are co-ordinating their efforts, but somehow every conversation seems to fold back in on itself until it arrives at some method of pestering her about Emma.

Zelena beats her to the last dumpling, casting a triumphant look in her direction. When she’s finished chewing, she says, “You know, you can’t wait around too long for a tasty morsel like this, or someone else might just beat you to it.”

Regina’s suspicions that she’s not talking about dim sum are confirmed a moment later. “If you don’t bloody hurry up and do something about all that unresolved lesbian sexual tension, I might just have to send Emma a few messages on your behalf.” Zelena gives her a sly look before saying, “Or on my own behalf.”

“Don’t you dare.” Regina says, and she’s not sure if she’s talking about one or both of Zelena’s threats. As it is, her gratitude for Zelena’s recent help is very quickly evaporating and she’s reminded of why she and her sister don’t usually get along.

“Is your password for everything still Rocinante?” Zelena enquires sweetly.

Regina grinds out an ill-tempered denial through clenched teeth, even though it’s possible – okay, definitely true – that there might be one or two (or several) things she still uses that password for.

Henry snorts. “It totally is.”

She glares at Henry, both for the betrayal and the thought that he’s been snooping enough to know her passwords.

“Relax, Sis. I promise I won’t do anything… much.”

“I swear to God, Zelena.” She makes a mental note to change all her passwords this evening just in case.

Zelena continues, apparently unperturbed by the threat in her tone. “You know, if you’re wondering when would be a good time to seal the deal, let’s just say that tomorrow would be a most auspicious day to start a new relationship. I can feel it in my bones.”

Regina gives her a flat, disgusted look. “You’ve got money riding on this, don’t you?”

Zelena returns her gaze, a picture of innocence. “I just don’t want to have to endure another day of Emma Swan’s bloody mopey face. I sent her on three animal control callouts the other day and she didn’t even complain once.” Zelena shakes her head. “Bloody pathetic.”

“You truly are a humanitarian.”

“I know, aren’t I just?” Zelena says cheerily. “By the way, I brought dessert.”

She produces a bag from under the table and pulls out a cake box. With a flourish, she opens it to reveal a cake in the shape of a swan. Henry cracks up and Regina begins to wonder whether this would count as justifiable homicide. She’s sure it would, but even if it’s not, she does know a few people in law enforcement who might be persuaded to look the other way.

“Zelena, I am actually going to kill you.”

She pours herself a glass of wine, because a couple of hours in her sister’s presence is more than enough to require some sort of anaesthesia.

Zelena pouts. “It was Henry’s idea.”

Henry holds his hands up, shaking his head. “No way, Mom. It was all Aunt Zelena.”

Zelena gets a knife from the kitchen, and when she’s cutting the cake, she says, “Which part would you like to taste first? Tail? Breast?”

Regina is halfway through taking a sip of wine when Zelena says that and she chokes on it. It’s a sign of what’s to come, because the vaguely suggestive comments continue for the rest of the evening. Henry alternates between smirking and looking slightly ill when some of the double entendres turn single.

It’s a relief when Zelena finally declares that she’s ready to leave, and Regina walks her to the front door.

Zelena pauses in the doorway. “I have it on good authority that Emma’s off-duty tomorrow and her plans involve nothing other than binge-watching Netflix all day.” Zelena smiles sweetly and says, “Maybe you could help her change those plans to Netflix and chill.”

“Good night, Zelena,” Regina says pointedly.

Zelena ignores the warning in her tone and says, “Nothing like having your cake and eating her too, am I right Sis?”

“Leave and never come back.”

Regina can still hear Zelena cackling after she’s closed the front door. She returns to the kitchen. Henry’s still sitting at the table and Regina takes a seat opposite him.

There’s a ring of wine on the table where her glass had been and she draws patterns in it for a moment, considering what she’s going to say and whether she should say it. Eventually, she looks up at Henry. He’s watching her and when she meets his eyes, he frowns.

“If I was to date someone – and I’m not saying that person would be Emma…” Henry rolls his eyes, but she ignores it and continues, “If I were to start dating again, would you be okay with that?”

“I kind of thought I made that pretty obvious,” he says. His voice softens. “I know what it’s like to be lonely, Mom.”

She can’t help the slight defensiveness that creeps into her voice. “I’m not lonely. I have you. I have your Aunt Zelena.” He rolls his eyes at that. “I have friends.”

“It’s not the same, though, is it?” When she doesn’t answer, he says, “Mom, I’m okay with you dating Emma. I love you and I want you to be happy.”

She searches his face for a moment, looking for any sign that it might not be true, but he’s looking at her with as much sweetness and sincerity as she can remember seeing in the longest time.

“I just wanted to make sure.” She reaches out to cover his hand with her own. “And if that ever changes, I want you to tell me. You come first. Always.”

*****

Zelena’s intelligence turns out to be spot on.

She knocks on Emma’s door and a moment later the door is opening to reveal Emma clad in track pants and another of her ubiquitous tank tops, with her hair falling in messy curls over her shoulders.

“Hey.” Emma peers at her from behind thick-framed glasses that Regina hadn’t realised she wore. “Is something wrong, Regina?”

The sight of Emma looking so soft is like a warm blanket around her shoulders and there’s a fond smile that threatens to take over her face. She shakes her head.

“Do you mind if I come in?”

Emma stands aside, allowing her through the door. “Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.”

Emma’s apartment is cosy, if a little lacking in furnishings. There’s a small sofa in front of the television, which, true to Zelena’s word is playing something on Netflix.

She walks over to the sofa and sits down, because she’s not sure her legs will be steady enough to hold her. She pats the seat beside her when Emma doesn’t immediately follow. Emma ignores her and leans against the door frame, arms folded across her chest.

“We need to talk,” she says and when Emma clenches her jaw and pulls her arms tighter around herself, she belatedly realises that maybe her choice of words had been poor.

She’d spent a mostly-sleepless night thinking things through and as the morning dawned, she’d finally decided it was time to clear the air. Now, sleep-deprived and uncertain she’s probably not in the best frame of mind to do this, but she’s not sure she can bear to draw this out any longer.

There are reservations she has, chief among which is the thought of Emma having nothing else to tie her to Storybrooke. She hadn’t been planning to raise the suggestion of Emma looking to take on more responsibility in the Sheriff’s Department yesterday, but now she recognises the impulse for what it was.

“What did you want to talk about, Regina?” There’s resignation in her tone, a kind of defeat that Regina wouldn’t have expected from her. Emma’s always seemed so strong, but now she seems to collapse in on herself and Regina wonders at her sudden vulnerability.

She clears her throat, suddenly tight with nerves and says, “You and I. _Us_.” As she says it, she realises it’s not a word she’s allowed herself to really think before, let alone speak aloud.

“I feel like we’ve been dancing around this for a while. And I think we’re both stubborn enough that we could easily carry on ignoring this. Maybe even forever.” She looks up and Emma’s watching her now, a frown creasing her brow. “Am I wrong?”

Emma shakes her head and the frown morphs into something else, a kind of confused wonderment. “I’ve thought about it, but I told myself it wasn’t possible. I was sure I must be imagining things, that you couldn’t be interested in someone like me.”

Hearing that banishes the residual fear that maybe she had been wrong about everything and she can’t help the smile that forms. “I _am_ interested,” she says. “Of course I am.” And she can’t imagine a world in which Emma Swan would seem anything less than utterly desirable and she wants to tell Emma exactly that, over and over again.

She hesitates, because although she wants nothing more than to go to Emma and fall into her arms right now, she has to do the right thing, has to be sensible. “I worry, though, about what that means for you. Storybrooke’s a small town and… and I don’t want you to feel like you’re being held back. And I worry about what that might mean for me.”

Emma finally crosses the room and sits beside her. The sofa’s small enough that when Emma turns to her, their knees are touching.

“We’re talking about possibilities that may never come to pass. It feels like you’ve mapped us out from beginning to end before you’ve even asked me about what I want.” There’s a thread of something that could be anger running through Emma’s voice and Regina almost flinches at the intensity of it.

“It's just... it seems like other people get happy endings and I only get endings.” She looks down at her hands, clasped in her lap. There are red marks just below her knuckles where she’s been gripping her own hand tight, too tight. “I’m not sure I’m brave enough to face another one of those.”

“Regina…” Emma reaches out, her hand tentative as it comes up to smooth the line of Regina’s jaw and settle on her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut and she leans into the touch, yearns for it with everything she is. And maybe it was better when Emma was standing on the other side of the room, because at least then she could manage a semblance of sensible thought.

“Regina, I don’t know what the future holds. But I like you. I like you maybe more than I’ve ever liked anyone and that alone is enough to make me want to stick around and find out. But it wouldn’t be the only thing keeping me here.”

And then Emma’s hand is gone and she misses her touch in a way she wouldn’t have thought possible. She opens her eyes to find Emma sitting back, watching her, eyes soft and glistening. “If you don’t want to take that chance, then I’ll respect that. I understand you need to protect yourself, to protect Henry.”

She closes her eyes again and she can feel the flutter of her heart and it feels almost too big for her chest. She takes a deep breath, as deep as she can manage, even though it seems like there’s no room left for her lungs to expand. She opens her eyes again and Emma’s still there, solid and real, watching her with gentle concern and she _knows_. Knows that she can trust Emma and that even though the road will lead where it leads, she wants to find out where it goes.

“Emma,” she murmurs, her voice almost so soft that even she can’t hear it. And then she leans in, leans in and Emma’s right there, ready to meet her, ready to catch her. The first touch of Emma’s lips feels like coming home, like walking through the door and shrugging off her coat, like kicking off her heels and letting all the tension drop away.

Emma’s arms around her are strong, but her lips are gentle and she lets herself melt into her. She runs her hands up the lean, hard muscle of Emma’s back and then tangles her fingers in curls she’s been wanting to run her hands through forever.

When she finally leans back, breathless and flushed, Emma’s smile is wide and radiant and she wants nothing more than to fall into her all over again.

There are words, feelings she’s not even close to being ready to think about. But they’re there, slowly unfurling like a seedling in Spring and with every moment of the warmth of Emma’s smile they grow closer to becoming something she can identify.

She lets herself fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's probably a lot more I could have done with this fic, but with school this year I was lucky to find enough time to take it this far. As a result, I think I ended up with a fic with a bit of an identity crisis, because it's not quite fluff, not quite humour and not quite something else. Hopefully it works well enough to be an enjoyable read in spite of that.
> 
> Also, I'm not writing with first-hand experience of Cystic Fibrosis and if I've in any way messed up, or you find my depiction of Henry's experiences problematic, please please please let me know, because I always want to do better.


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